


Hit the Ground Upright

by Carmexgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmexgirl/pseuds/Carmexgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hooker!AU.  Castiel's stuck in a crappy, pressurized job where he's unappreciated.  He employs the services hooker to let off steam.  Unlike the rest of this life though, things do not go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit the Ground Upright

**Author's Note:**

> Hooker!AU, with kind-of-an-asshole Cas and slight Dean/Zachariah.
> 
> This is a fairly old fic, but I've had a couple of requests to post this on A03 as it's easier to download to e-readers, so here it is!

It’s 8.15pm, or near enough, and Castiel is slumped over a pile of papers on his desk, eyes unable to focus on the columns of figures displayed. It has been an awful Friday, capping off what has probably been the worst week of Castiel’s life, and he still isn’t done yet, still needs to finish those accounts otherwise he knows he’ll come under scrutiny. His company had let go of 40 people at the start of the month, with the so called lucky ones who still had a job left picking up their work on top of their own. It is a near impossible task, one that after four weeks was slowly getting to Castiel, slowly starting to crack his stoic exterior and expose him as the sinking ship he really is.

He’s in a foul mood. He hasn’t had time for lunch and his stomach is hurting with the lack of food. He’s tired, wrung out and desperately wanting to finish so he can spend the weekend recovering before the same sorry routine begins again Monday morning.

There’s a light tap on the side of his cubicle, and when he looks up from the Newton’s cradle he has been so engrossed in he is surprised to see Zachariah Adler standing there, chest puffed in his black and white suit, smarmy grin perpetually etched on his face. He’s a senior partner at the firm; someone who normally doesn’t trawl the floors of the underdogs, preferring instead to sip whisky in his wood-paneled office on the top floor. Evidently he is feeling benevolent today.

“Mr. Novak,” he says, and Castiel jumps at the thought he knows his name.

“Yes, sir?”

“It’s 8.15. What are you still doing here?”

“I’m…finishing off the Willams account, sir.”

“Williams?” He practically barks in surprise. “They’ve entrusted a junior with our fourth biggest account?”

Castiel takes a breath, halfway between pissed and terrified. “Sir, it was Raphael’s until you let him go, and no one…”

Zachariah’s eyes narrow, his mouth set into a thin line. “We didn’t let anyone go, Novak. Raphael took voluntary redundancy; it was a sound business decision.”

“But sir, his other option was compulsory…”

“I think you had better be getting home, Mr. Novak,” Zachariah says, cutting Castiel off, “before your only option is ‘compulsory’.” He walks out, suit flapping behind him and Castiel can only scowl through his tired eyes. It’s not as if he hasn’t tried, hasn’t worked harder than he believes anyone else in the firm. He’s in too early, stays too late, and yet it is still not enough to appease them. He knows he could be out of a job at any moment and he’s desperately clinging on to that lifeline, hoping against hope that he doesn’t slip off but all the while resenting the fact that he works so hard for so little personal reward. Sure, the money’s good, probably the best he could get at his age and experience, but it doesn’t make up for the way he’s treated like shit most of the time.

It’s nearly nine when he leaves, crashing into the glass revolving door on his way out because in his haste to leave, he just doesn’t see it moving. He wants to turn around and shout at the building that symbolizes everything he hates, everything he never wanted to become. He wraps his trench coat around himself tighter as he steps outside, thoughts as bitter as the cold night air.

He finds his car, fumbles with the ancient locks, crawls inside, and puts the key into the ignition. He stops off at a drive thru, grabbing himself a burger to ease the hollow pangs of hunger in his stomach. As he bites into it, he realizes they’ve left the gherkin and mustard on even though he’d specifically asked for it to be taken off. He spits it out in disgust, swearing loudly, before throwing the rest of the burger out of his car window. A fitting end to an awful week, he supposes as he starts the engine and heads for home.

He stops the traffic lights near his apartment, thinking to himself as he watches the traffic go by. There’s an itch in the pit of his stomach, something he has been ignoring for a couple of months now, but it’s something he badly wants to scratch. The lights turn and he freezes, wondering which way to go, heart beating as he suddenly makes the decision, turns, and travels down a lesser-known route to the darker side of town, to one particular area. He needs this, he reasons. Today of all days he needs this.

He sees them almost instantly. Boys, not much more than that, hanging around on street corners, leaning into cars to discuss terms. He knows the score, having indulged a couple of times before in moments of weakness. Because of the hours he works he’s unable to forge ‘real’ relationships, plus the fact that his general demeanor puts him in the ‘strange’ category. He doesn’t care tonight; having had such a shitty week he thinks he can do no better than pick up a prostitute and have dirty, hollow, meaningless sex to make him feel better about his crappy existence. It’ll cap off a truly awful day, bring it to a suitably sordid end.

He sees the perfect candidate. He’s a little older than the rest, maybe a couple of years younger that Castiel, and he’s blonde, tall with what looks like a good body underneath the tight white t-shirt he wears. The thought crosses Castiel’s mind that the guy must be cold standing there, before he dismisses it outright. These people are used to standing around all evening in skimpy clothing, victims of their chosen profession and nothing more.

As he pulls up closer, he can see his face properly. He’s extremely good-looking, slightly feminine features set off by the most gorgeous set of green eyes Castiel has ever seen. He’s the type of guy Castiel could never hope to pick up in a normal situation, yet here he can at least pretend this guy wants him as opposed to his money. He’ll be good for an evening, Castiel imagines, probably better than anything Castiel could pick up in a bar or club.

He stops and winds down his window. The guy practically swaggers over to him, eyes bright and evidently not dulled by drugs like some of the others. He must be new, but he exudes a strange sort of confidence as he approaches.

“Like what you see?” The guy winks at him. He’s very self-assured, Castiel will give him that.

Castiel smirks. “Certainly.” And he does, he really does.

“Great. So, what can I do for you, handsome?”

Castiel dismisses the endearment, knowing it’s just his sales patter and nothing more. He wishes they could stop this charade and just get down to the sex, but he knows how to play the game. “Anything I want,” he says, making a clear show of looking him up and down.

The guy smiles back. “Yeah, ok, but you gotta be prepared to pay. I don’t come cheap, ha ha.”

“Oh, I’ll pay,” Castiel replies, ignoring the innuendo. “I’ll pay you handsomely.” He may only be a junior at the firm, but he earns a decent living, more than this guy has probably ever seen. “Get in,” he gestures.

The guy complies, slipping into the passenger side. He smells of cheap cologne, and there’s the shadow of stubble on his chin.

“Where do you want to do this?” Castiel asks, eyes on the road as he drives.

“It’s a little late, but I’ll call a few contacts and see what I can do.” The guy takes out his phone, the screen lighting up the car and when Castiel glances over, there’s a picture of him standing next to a younger man set as the wallpaper. So the guy has a boyfriend, Castiel thinks. Really, who’d want to date a prostitute, knowing what they have to do? Or maybe his boyfriend doesn’t know? Maybe he lies to him, tells him he works the night shift or something. Must be pretty hard, he thinks, before shaking himself.

The guy talks into his phone, nodding occasionally before hanging up. “Got one,” he says brightly, just a couple of blocks up here, on the corner of Third. He points in the general direction and Castiel follows, turning the wheel. They drive in silence, Castiel affording the guy a few furtive glances. 

“You don’t talk much,” the guy says eventually.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Castiel says simply, keeping eyes fixed on the road now. He’s not in the mood for talking—he’s done nothing but talk all day and he’s fed up of it.

“Ok,” the guy huffs. “My name’s Dean, by the way.”

“That’s nice for you,” Castiel says absently. A red light turns to green just as he starts slowing down.

“So what’s yours?” 

“I’d prefer it if we didn’t exchange names.” He’s never swapped names with a pick up before. He doesn’t want to get into this, doesn’t want him to know who he is. He’s just some suit who’s had a crappy time and wants to exorcise his frustration and anger with sex, nothing more. 

The guy, Dean, seems rather taken aback. “Whoa, ok. You could come up with a fake name, though. Most people do.”

“Why would I want to do that?” It’s honestly something Castiel’s never thought about before.

“So’s you don’t appear, you know, rude or something.” 

Castiel snorts in slight disbelief. “Sorry, I guess I’m not the expert in rent boy etiquette.”

“Escort.” Dean’s voice is a little softer when he says this.

“What?” Castiel turns to face him, and sees him fiddling with the hem of his t shirt.

“I prefer to be called an escort. Not a rent-boy. Escort.” Dean looks a little crestfallen, creating a small pang of guilt in the pit of Castiel’s stomach.

“Ok, I apologize. Escort. Is that better?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean s seems to perk up after this, practically jumping out of his seat when he sees the building he’s after. “Over here, man. Just park over there and we’re across the street.”

It’s a dingy-looking hotel, with three stories and a rickety looking fire escape running down the side of it. The windows are all intact, if dirty, and the steps leading up to the entrance have chips missing out of them. Castiel wonders how the thing is still trading.

He follows Dean up the stairs and into the lobby, where there is one faded and split reception desk with a rather fat lady sitting on the other side. Dean talks to her for a few minutes while Castiel stands there, moving from foot to foot and trying to hide his face from the receptionist who keeps looking at him and giving him a knowing wink. Dean turns, holding up a key card and smiling. “Room 302,” he says, “just up the stairs and to the left.”

“Great,” Castiel says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He walks after Dean, taking in the faded pictures and peeling paint. Once they get to their floor, Castiel finds the corridor lights won’t work at all no matter how many times he flicks the switch.

“Come on, in here,” he hears Dean call, and sees a light coming from an open door down the corridor. He walks inside, and looks around.

It’s…a room. The décor is as expected; tired, old, peeling wallpaper. There’s black mold in the one corner, seemingly trying to work its way down the wall, and the floorboards creak and move as he steps on them. The whole room has that musty smell, like an old house that has been shut up for months, the air damp and stifling. 

Dean sits on the bed, which predictable creaks under him. The comforter is beige, with darker, graying stains and once white pillows have a dirty grey tinge to them.

“Pretty lucky to get a room this time of night,” Dean says, and Castiel thinks he may be proud that he’s managed to get them here.

“Really? I’m surprised there are actually occupied rooms in this hotel.”

Dean smiles awkwardly. “Yeah, places like these get booked up real quick. Mainly for…you know…business,” he gestures with his hand and Castiel winces. “They charge by the hour, which is good.” Dean takes off his t shirt, placing it on the end of the bed. “Um…we never discussed price…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel says. “I can afford it.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Ok. So, you want to go all the way, right?”

Castiel stares at Dean, thinking. “Well, yes. Why else would I be here?”

“Right. See, some guys just wanna blow job or a hand job. Or they wanna blow me. Helps that I know what to work with. So you wanna top, right?”

“I’m not bottoming. Not for a…an escort.” It comes out harsher than he expected.

Dean puts his hands up. “Easy, easy. Some guys like to be dominated, is all, specially suits. Just establishing boundaries.”

“I don’t want to establish boundaries. I just want to get on with it,” Castiel says, feeling a little uneasy at the small talk. Most of the time it’s just been a few words on price, then straight down to it. He’s not much of a talker at the best of times, and tonight he’s not really in the mood for saying anything.

Dean whips his head around to stare at Castiel, opening his mouth before stopping himself, closing it again and breathing heavily. He grits his teeth when he says, “Ok, fine. You want me to blow you first?”

Castiel thinks for a moment. “Yes, yes I do. Are you any good?”

“Never had any complaints. Had people pay extra for the privilege actually. Got a something of a reputation, you might say.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really,” Dean snaps, which causes Castiel to look up. Dean breathes, before falling to his knees and crawling towards Castiel. God, he’s beautiful Castiel thinks. It’s such a shame. Dean reaches Castiel and starts to mouth at the growing erection through his pants. His mouth feels so good, and Castiel can’t help but whimper when Dean starts to undo his pants, pulling the belt out of its loops and sending it clattering to the side before pulling them down. He mouths at his boxers, and Castiel’s cock grows to full hardness, reveling in the tempting warmth coming from Dean’s mouth. Castiel’s never had anyone pay this much attention to him before. Usually, it’s straight down to it, no preamble, no foreplay. 

Dean continues, making a wet patch on Castiel’s boxers as he works his mouth over his clothed cock. Eventually when Castiel is aching with want, dripping, Dean pulls his boxers down.

“You have a nice cock,” Dean says, blowing cool air across the slit, making Castiel shiver. “Gonna feel so good in my mouth. Bet you taste good too.” He licks the tip and Castiel shudders, angling his hips forwards and urging Dean to take him in his mouth.

Dean complies, taking him down nearly all the way, and Castiel is momentarily shocked at how expertly he can deep-throat. Dean begins sucking, tongue flicking at the skin just underneath the head. It’s good, probably the best blow job Castiel’s had in a while. It helps that Dean is probably the best-looking guy he’s ever been with, that given different circumstances Castiel would totally want him. “Oh yes. That feels…wonderful,” Castiel moans, whimpering a little when Dean’s hand cups his balls as he sucks him. Yes, definitely the best blow job he’s had.

Castiel tips his head back and groans. He starts to move, starts to fuck Dean’s mouth while Dean just kneels there and takes it, making obscene slurping and sucking noises. Castiel can feel himself getting close to the edge so he pulls back, pulling Dean off. “I think we’d better get on the bed,” he says, even though looking the filthy sheets don’t look particularly inviting.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, voice rough. He stands up, walking over to the bed and inspecting the sheets. “Kinda place you need a UV ray, right?”

Castiel looks confused. “I don’t understand.”

“You know, so’s the stains show up like on those TV shows.”

“Oh, right. I don’t watch much television.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I mean, we’re not going to be clean either so I guess it’s kind of fitting with what we’re doing here; a few stains won’t make any difference.”

“What did you say?” 

Castiel looks up, and sees Dean staring at him, something unreadable in his eyes. He sighs. “I said we’re not going to be doing anything particularly clean either.” Castiel sighs, becoming frustrated by the whole situation. He’s still hard and he’s desperate for a fuck, the sensation of Dean’s mouth on his cock minutes before making him harder and hornier than ever. “Look, I mean no offense but I’ve had enough of the small talk. I’ve had a really shitty day, and I just want to unwind. Just get on the bed so I can fuck you and go home. Please?”

Dean’s eyes widen. “You think I want sex with you now, after you’ve said that? You know for a handsome guy you’re acting like a dick. This is how you unwind? Hire an escort and treat him like shit?”

“I’m sorry? I don’t think…”

“You heard what I said. You hire an escort, treat him like shit, get your rocks off and then you’re done, yeah?”

“I don’t…” 

Dean’s staring at Castiel, fists clenching, jaw square as he grits his teeth. “This make you feel like a big man? I’ve done nothing but be nice to you, be professional and all you’ve done is act like a dick the whole time.”

Castiel is enraged and confused in equal measure. Yes, he knows he’s in a bad mood, and yes, he’s probably been acting like more of an idiot than usual but he’s been putting up with shit the whole day and he’s not about to start again with a rent boy. “How dare you? I’m _paying_ for your company, and if this is how you react then...then…”

“Fuck you, man! Fuck you.” Dean picks up his t shirt and pulls it on quickly. “Keep your fucking money, I don’t want it. Just cos you hired me doesn’t mean you get to treat me like shit. You wanna push someone around, go back to your crappy office job and shout at the intern if it makes you feel powerful.”

Castiel’s breathing hard, trying to get his words out. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

Dean laughs bitterly. “No, I don’t. I bet no one else does either and you know what, you don’t know anything about me either. You just flash your cash and make assumptions. I get enough shit thrown at me for doing this job as it is; I don’t need some self-righteous asshole treating me like something they wiped off their shoe.”

“You think you’re going to get a better offer tonight? I would have paid you enough to keep you off the streets for a week.” 

“Yeah, well, I got something you haven’t, buddy. I got self respect; can’t buy that. You got the room for the next hour. Do whatever the hell you want with it, because I’m going. This ‘rent boy’s got better things to be doing than be insulted to a prick like you. Have a great life, Mr. ‘I Don’t Do Small Talk.’ Sure weren’t saying that when my lips were wrapped around your dick.” 

With that, Dean opens the door and walks out, leaving Castiel standing there, dumbfounded. He’s just been insulted by a prostitute, and abandoned in a shitty hotel room. A prostitute with apparent principles, no less. 

He sits down on the bed, realizing his pants are still undone, dick flaccid and cold now. His face is flaming, both with the flush of arousal and embarrassment. He tucks himself back in tidies up, walking out of the room and down the stairs. When he gets into his car, he can still smell the lingering scent of Dean’s cologne and sits for a while, contemplating. He’s hired a prostitute and was such an idiot he didn’t even get down to the good part, he thinks bitterly as he eventually starts the engine. Sometimes, he thinks, he gets exactly what he deserves; a suitably sordid end to a suitably shitty day. 

It’s nearly midday on Saturday before Castiel wakes, jackhammers pounding an unrelenting rhythm in his head. The light streaming into his eyes through the crack in the blinds hurts like pinpricks into his skull, and he finds he has to blink a few times before he can focus on the clock to realize he has spent half a Saturday in bed. He pads bare footed into the living room of his rented apartment, and scans the carnage left from the night before. There’s an open whiskey bottle on its side on the coffee table, what little contents that were left having dripped onto the carpet to form a large brown stain. A few glasses are scattered about here and there, with the remnants of a toasted sandwich languishing plateless on the corner of his couch. He groans at the mess and turns away, unable to cope with the somehow intricate task of cleaning up. Instead he steps into his kitchen to pour himself a coffee and take a couple of Tylenol.

He leans up against the kitchen counter, placing the coffee mug on his forehead and temples in an attempt to burn away the pain currently searing itself into his skull. It’s unlike him to leave the living room in such a mess, and given the headache and nausea he’s now experiencing, he thinks he must have been pretty drunk. Memories of the night before are kind of hazy, faded images with half-remembered bits of conversation. He remembers working late (no change there), and something about a rather tense conversation with Zachariah. There was some shouting, and he remembers feeling angry over something, but exactly what is just a gray, fuddled mess. It’s worrying, to say the least.

He sips on his coffee, burning his tongue in the process, and thinks. Lately, he’s found himself indulging in a whole manner of what he would deem ‘risky’ behaviors. They’re nothing particularly out of the ordinary in general terms, but they’re out of the ordinary for Castiel and that’s what worries him. It’s unlike him to get blind drunk on whiskey, on his own, and leave the apartment in a total mess. He’d heard that drinking on your own is one of the signs of an alcoholic; then again he did hear that from Gabriel so that assertion probably needs to be taken with a shovelful of salt.

Still, it irks him that he’s acting out of character, mainly because he’s normally so measured and in control. It’s happening more and more; drinking, staying up late with no apparent reason, eating garbage or not eating at all…It’s the stress of the job, he reasons, the fact that he’s got all of this extra work piled on top of him, no support, and not that many friends to sound off to. He has to find other outlets—it’s either that or jump off the nearest bridge, and even then he’s sure Zachariah would come tumbling after him, yelling about how he fucked up the Williams account.

He laughs at the absurdity of it, the action jarring his head. He stops for a while, holding his head in his hands an d trying to massage the pain away. This is when he remembers, and drops his coffee mug onto the floor, sending hot coffee and shards of ceramic scattering across the tiles. “Shit!” He exclaims, grabbing a roll of paper towels and furiously mopping up, not caring that his knees and being cut to ribbons. There’s a chip in one of the tiles from where the mug hit before it shattered, and Castiel curses because he’s managed so far to keep the apartment in pristine condition and not jeopardize his deposit. Today is not going to be a good day, he reasons, pulling another mug out of the cupboard and pouring himself some more coffee before settling back and dabbing a cloth at his bloody knees. When he thinks the blood has stopped flowing, he carefully side steps the mound of sodden paper towels and walks back to his bedroom. He sets his coffee on the side and flops down on his rumpled bed, burying his head underneath his pillows and groaning.

What an ass. What a complete and utter ass.

The guy—what was his name?—must have thought he was a complete and utter prick. In fact, didn’t he say as much? Words like ‘prick’, ‘asshole’ and ‘dick’ swirl around Castiel’s muddled thoughts and he just wants to curl up and die.

Castiel has always prided himself on maintaining a professional exterior, of being polite to everyone and everything even if that comes at his own expense. Even with the two previous rent boys he’s had, he’s always behaved properly, never taken advantage of the powerful situation he’s in…until last night. He was tired and pissed off, wanting to forget about his shitty life for a while, and that seemed to morph itself into being ignorant and downright rude.

 _Just get on the bed so I can fuck you and go home_

He wants to hit himself. What kind of asshole says that? He imagines it’s something Zachariah might say and yep, that makes him feel a whole lot worse. The guy…Dean, he said his name was Dean, was pretty handsome. He had a nice smile and, when Castiel thinks back, seemed actually genuinely interested in Castiel, unlike most of the other people he’s been with, unlike even his work colleagues. He didn’t seem like the typical hooker at all.

Dean seemed kind of naïve, almost like he wasn’t used to the way things worked. There was something about the way Dean looked at him, like he was trying so hard, being more accommodating than perhaps he should. Castiel thought back to when he first saw him, how much better he looked than all the rest of them, definitely a higher class of prostitute. He knew the places to go, but there wasn’t the anonymity like with the others.

And what did Castiel do faced with this? He could have had some pretty awesome sex with a hot guy, let off a bit of steam, make himself feel good but instead his stupid mouth and his stupid temper ran away with him and he’s ended up with nothing but a shit tip for an apartment, a cracked tile, bloody knees and a self-deprecating sense of guilt. Not the best start to the weekend.

And there’s the nausea again. Castiel’s head is swirling with thoughts, the most immediate one being, ‘bathroom. Now.’ He throws up his coffee and the Tylenol, actually feeling better by the time he’s finished and washed his mouth out with water. It’s then that he makes a resolution:

Clean the apartment. Then go and find Dean, and apologize. 

Yeah, he may not see him again and yes, Dean might not want to speak to him after how they’d ended their acquaintance, but at least Castiel could set his mind at rest that no, he’s not an asshole, not really. He’s just under a lot of pressure, that’s all.

 

He sleeps for another hour, waking up to find that the pounding in his head has subsided. He begins to tidy the living room, but the growling in his stomach makes him realize he hasn’t eaten anything all day. He makes himself an omelet, throwing in some spinach leaves in an effort to convince his body that he’s actually eating healthily. As he waits for it to cook, he thinks back to Dean, hoping he can remember what he looks like so he has a chance of finding him. He knows there’s a possibility that Dean’s moved on given last night’s disaster, but he can still try. That particular part of town has a few streets he can look down—he’s never seen any police around that area, and the guys are pretty much openly petitioning passers-by for business, so he guesses it’s safe to spend a little time down there. He just needs to wait.

His phone suddenly starts ringing, pulling out of his reverie with a jump.

“Hello?”

“Hey bro!”

“Hi, Gabriel,” Castiel sighs. Although his head is better, he’s not in the mood for his brother’s perpetually loud cheeriness.

“How’s things my man?” Gabriel sounds more upbeat than usual for some reason. He’s normally cheery, but today he seems overly so.

“It’s ok.” Castiel knows he sounds unsure, but he’s hoping Gabriel’s not feeling particularly perceptive today.

No such luck. “Doesn’t sound it? How’s Adler, Stein and Partners? Still working you like a dog?”

Castiel sighs. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“You gotta get out of there, bro. It’s not doing you any good. Last time I saw you, you were all thin and pale, and you always sound so god damn tired all the time.”

“I know, but I have to pay the bills somehow.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments. “You don’t though, do you. I mean, not really.”

Castiel grits his teeth, knowing exactly what Gabriel means. “I’m not doing it, Gabriel. I’m not asking them for anything. I did what they wanted…”

“Yeah you did, but look at what it’s doing to you. You gotta…break free, do something for yourself and you know they have the money to do that.”

Of course he knows. He’s had the perceived fortune to grow up in a privileged background, and suffer the immense pressure that it has put him under. He was always the ‘good’ son, doing everything his parents wanted, getting into accounting, getting all the qualifications and then practically walking into a highly-paid job at Adler, Stein and Partners. He hated accounting, hated all of it, yet by that point it was too late, he couldn’t do anything else. He began to resent his parents so much for forcing him into it that eventually he’d cut off all ties with them and their money. He’d be damned if he’d go back groveling.

“I don’t want anything from them,” he says firmly.

“Don’t be an idiot, Castiel. You just…go back like the good son, ask them for some help. You don’t have to tell them what you’re doing, just take the money and run.”

“I’m not doing it. I’m not like you—I can’t just fleece them.”

“After what they did to us?” Don’t you remember…”

He remembered it all. The lack of love, the strict upbringing, the demands that he do better, that he do the family proud. No affection, no kisses goodnight, nothing, just work. They weren’t children, they were possessions, recruits and nothing more, and a part of him hates that he didn’t realize that sooner and just leave. He’d realized far too late, when he’d already been sucked too far down the path they’d mapped out for him.

“I do. But still, I’m not going to do it. I’d rather make it on my own.”

“Doing exactly what they wanted you to do. You know, I’ll welcome the day you grow some balls, Castiel.”

“Yeah, it’ll be the day you develop a sense of common sense, Gabriel.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone. “Touche.” Gabriel says eventually. They’ve had this conversation many, many times, and it always ends the same way. It’s not something either of them think is worth arguing over any more, mainly because they both know it’s not going to change.

“So,” Gabriel begins, “I’m gonna be back in a few weeks, so we can hang out, right?”

This makes Castiel smile. As annoying as Gabriel is, Castiel really enjoys his company. “Ok. It’ll…it’ll be good to see you again, Gabriel.”

“Yeah, you too little bro. Text you when I know for certain, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Right, I gotta go. See you soon; don’t let the bastards grind you down, huh?”

“I won’t.”

“And eat something for chrissakes.”

“I will.”

“Awesome. Speak to you soon.”

The phone clicks off, and Castiel walks into the kitchen, searching in cupboards for any kind of cleaning material. For the next two hours, he cleans the apartment from top to bottom, making sure not a trace of liquid or food is left anywhere. The stains on the floor seem to wash away well, and when he’s finished the apartment looks pristine.

 

He walks to his bedroom, rifling through the few casual clothes he owns and picking out a pair of faded jeans and a t shirt. Next he has a shower, washing away the grime of yesterday before pulling on his clothes and getting ready to go out. He doesn’t spend that much time on his appearance, knowing he’s only going into the seedier part of town where the people aren’t particularly bothered with the way you look, just how much money you have. 

He locks up the apartment and walks to his car, fiddling and swearing at the locks before he eventually climbs inside. He starts up the engine and begins to drive, half thankful that the light is fading but also fearing that it may hinder his mission. He can only do his best, he reasons.

It’s stupid, he thinks as he drives. Driving around all evening looking for a prostitute you insulted. It’s a ridiculous state of affairs. 

If he was a normal person, if he’d had a normal upbringing rather than the freaky religious one his parents gave him, he’d have just let the whole matter lie and forget about it. Damn his guilt, and his deep-rooted fear of doing wrong. He doesn’t know why he can’t just reject that part of his upbringing and forget it, but he can’t. It’s been instilled in him since birth, and he can’t escape years of conditioning. It’s hypocritical, because that very same part of his upbringing should have prevented him from using hookers in the first place, but it hasn’t. All he knows is he’s wronged Dean, and he at least needs to attempt to seek forgiveness and make amends so he himself can feel better. 

Make amends with a prostitute…it’d be funny if it wasn’t so absurd.

He turns a corner, driving into the street where he first saw Dean, and scans the people loitering on the sidewalk. His heart beats, pumping loud and fast in his chest when he spots a white t-shirt, before calming down. The guy is too young, too short and not so well built. Definitely not Dean, from what he can remember.

He drives slowly, looking at each guy in turn. Some of them wave at him, smiling, while others shout to see if he’s after business. They look at him like he’s strange when he gestures for them to move on, telling them he’s not interested. Someone even asks if he’s a cop, and when he shakes his head, the reaction is, “Pity. I give special rates for cops.” These guys have no shame.

He eventually gets to the bottom of the street, turning right to drive slowly up the next one. Again there are rows of guys, and again he goes through the same ritual of catcalls, gestures and quiet suspicion. Some of them are quite good looking, yes, but none of them are Dean.

He turns into the third street, getting a little antsy. He’s starting to think this is a lost cause, that maybe Dean was so disgusted he’d moved on somewhere else. It’s unlikely, but it could have happened. Again, he can’t see anyone resembling Dean amongst the 15 or so guys that line the streets, and that’s when he decides to give it up as a lost cause. When he reaches the end, he finds that the way is blocked by a huge truck, making its way slowly along. Frustrated, he turns in the road and doubles back, turning into the second street and making his way up it. 

That’s when he sees him, leaning over someone else’s car and talking to the driver. He knows it’s Dean, because he’s wearing the same clothes as last night. His stomach curls in embarrassment, but he knows he has to do this, knows that he needs to at least apologize, or explain, or something. He gets closer, closer, but then Dean’s running to the passenger side and opening the door. He turns, and Castiel’s sure, absolutely sure he catches his eye as his face screws up in confusion before he slides into the car and speeds off.

Shit. Castiel feels…dejected. He’s missed him, not gotten the chance to explain. But, looking on the positive side, and Gabriel is always telling him to look on the positive side of things, he knows where Dean’s new spot is so he can come back another night.

Another night. Which means he’s already made up his mind to return. Why, he doesn’t know, other than that stupid sense of decency. The same sense of decency that stops him from going back to his parents and asking for their money so he can quit his job and spend it exactly how he wants.

 

So that’s exactly what he does. Sunday night, and he’s again trawling up the same streets, the slightly paranoid feeling creeping up on him that the people on the streets are starting to recognize his car, starting to know who he is. Effectively a regular, which is an appalling thought.

He shudders at that. He just wants to find Dean, say sorry, and then this whole ridiculous episode will be over, forgotten about.

In the distance, he spots Dean’s now familiar face, and again he gets that feeling in his stomach. He speeds up this time, seeing that Dean is alone and not wanting to give anyone else the opportunity to cut in. He draws up close and winds down his window, watching as Dean walks over to him. God, the man is as handsome as he remembers.

Dean smiles, then sees who it is and stops dead in his tracks, the smile practically melting off his face.

“C…can we talk?” Castiel offers lamely, his voice sounding small.

“Fuck off, man. I got nothing to say to you,” is Dean’s curt response.

It’s not like Castiel hasn’t been expecting this kind of retort, but it still knocks the wind out of his sails somewhat. “I just want…”

“I couldn’t give a crap what you want. I’m not interested. You want some action; go find someone else to be your punch bag.”

“I never hit you.” The response is automatic.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Ok, you want to walk all over someone and treat them like shit, go find someone else. Not interested.”

Castiel is about to say something, but Dean turns around and starts walking.

“I wanted to say sorry,” Castiel calls over him.

Dean waves a hand dismissively. “Save it,” he says harshly. “Not interested.”

“Just listen…”

“Not interested.” Dean repeats loudly, not looking back. He turns into an alleyway and by the time Castiel reaches it, he’s gone, seemingly disappeared.

Castiel sits there for a few moments, contemplating. A part of him feels angry for being waved away, dismissed without being given a chance, while the other part just feels guilty, like he got what he deserved. He waits for a while to see if Dean returns, but he doesn’t. He’s obviously found somewhere else to stand, and Castiel finds he doesn’t have the inclination to find out where.

He drives back home feeling utterly dejected, like he’s just been kicked in the teeth. Yes, he knows he deserves no better, but it still stings somewhat. As he crawls into bed, knowing he’ll have about four hours sleep tops before he has to get up for work, he feels like an utter failure.

 

The next week at work is more of the same. He’s been handed yet another new account to sort through on top of all the others he’d taken on, and he feels like he wants to scream. On Thursday he’s had enough and stops for a cigarette break, buying a packet and attempting to smoke one even though he’s never smoked in his life, he just needs to get out of the office for a while. The choking smoke hurts his eyes, and he’s sure he can feel the alveoli his lungs burning when he inhales and takes it down. He throws the rest of the packet away in disgust.

As he walks back to his cubicle he eyes the glass conference room, watching as Zachariah and the other partner, Michael Stein, schmooze with potential clients and laugh together. There’s wine and canapés in the room, and it makes Castiel’s blood boil. They’re in there, lapping it up while the workers are slowly crumbling. This morning, he’d learned Joshua had been signed off with stress, and Castiel knows that if this continues he’ll be soon to follow.

At 7pm he’s had enough and leaves, just wanting to get out of there. Instead of heading back home, he finds himself driving to the same familiar spot, not particularly caring if he can pick up someone or not, just wanting to be around other people for a while.

After a few minutes, he sees Dean. He wants to laugh at the irony—he’s a difficult man to find when Castiel’s looking for him but when he isn’t, there he is. Castiel’s about to turn away before Dean sees him, but something makes him stop. Dean’s talking to someone but the guy’s getting too close, stance and whole demeanor too aggressive for Castiel’s liking. Castiel puts his car into park, watching the scene carefully. Dean says something, face twisted in anger, and the guy reacts with his fists, punching Dean first in the stomach, then in his face when he leans over in pain.

The reaction is instantaneous. Castiel practically leaps out of the car. Dean stands upright, shaking himself before raising his arm up and getting ready to punch. The guy’s about to punch back when Castiel pushes him, getting between him and Dean and staring him down.

“I think you’d better leave, before I do some damage to you,” he says, voice surprisingly calm.

“Fuck off. This is none of your business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong; he’s a friend, and this is my business.” It’s the best lie Castiel’s brain can come up with.

“A fucking hooker? Some friend.” The guy lunges at Castiel, and Castiel punches him with all his might, sending him sprawling out onto the pavement. He turns to look at Dean, who’s staring at him in wide-eyed surprise, his nose dripping blood which has smeared onto his white t shirt.

“Get in the car,” he says. Dean just stares.

“Dean,” he repeats. “Please get in the car.”

“What the…who the hell…?”

“My name is Castiel. It’s not a made up name, it’s a real name, I swear. Please, we need to get out of here,” he motions to the guy on the floor who’s slowly coming round. “Please get in the car.”

Dean complies, running to the passenger side. Castiel’s shaking so hard he can barely get the car out of park, and his foot trembles on the accelerator. Eventually he gets it together, speeding off before the guy gets a good look at his car.

“Thanks, man,” Dean says from the passenger side of the car, holding his nose in an attempt to stop it bleeding. “But I gotta ask: What the hell is this?”

 

Castiel pulls up outside the nearest diner he can find, the clock in his car flashing 7:55pm. Dean’s leaning forwards, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing. The drops of blood on his t shirt have dried now, his hands covered in the stuff, sticky and red. Castiel hadn’t answered Dean’s previous question, instead concentrating on driving quickly, getting as far away as possible and finding somewhere to clean Dean up. 

Besides, he doesn’t know what the hell this is either.

He parks up, walking around to the passenger side to open the door and let Dean stumble out. Before he can motion to him that they need to go into the diner and get him cleaned up, Dean’s walking away.

“Wait!” Castiel calls, causing Dean to turn.

“Look, man, thanks for the ride and everything, but this is where I get off.”

“No, please. Dean…”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “So you remember my name?”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” The question confuses Castiel. He’s not stupid after all.

“Well, I thought you didn’t give a rat’s ass what I was called. You as much as said so yourself.”

Castiel sighs, because at the time, he really didn’t care. He’d wanted to get his rocks off and nothing more. He looks at the ground for a moment, kicking the dirt with his shoes.

“I’m not having sex with you,” Dean says flatly, making Castiel look up. “I don’t care how much money you have.”

“I know. I mean, that’s not what I’m after. I don’t want anything from you. Honestly. I just want to get you cleaned up and…have the chance to make amends.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, head moving slightly as if trying to work him out, trying to find Castiel’s ulterior motive. Castiel squirms a little under the scrutiny, desperately wanting to appear genuine but all the while knowing the more he does, the more Dean will suspect. It’s just human nature.

“Make amends?”

“Yes. For being an ass to you. I’d had a shitty day but you didn’t deserve it.”

Eventually Dean pulls back slightly, face indicating that he’s happy with Castiel’s explanation for now. “Ok, Castiel? That’s really your name?”

“Yes.” If it were any other situation, Castiel would have rolled his eyes. The sheer number of people who assume he’s joking when he tells him his name is mind boggling.

Dean sighs. “Ok Castiel. You got,” he checks his watch, “an hour before I gotta get back. I’m not losing out on business.”

That’s all he needs. Hell, that’s generous all things considered. He nods and motions for Dean to go towards the diner. Once inside, they head straight for the bathroom, avoiding any curious glances. 

Underneath the bright lights of the bathroom, Dean stares into the row of mirrors on the back wall. Castiel watches as he washes his face quickly, wincing when he catches his nose too hard. Once the blood has been washed away, Dean examines himself closely, pulling at the skin on his face.

“The bastard got me good,” he says bitterly.

“It looks like it, yes. I think you have the beginnings of two black eyes.”

“Shit,” Dean says. “That ain’t good for trade. Fuck.”

Castiel steps closer, angling Dean’s head around under the light. He brushes his fingers on his nose, touching lightly. “It doesn’t look broken, just badly damaged,” he says, examining the faint purpling under the skin. “How are your ribs?”

Dean stands up straight, pulling his shirt up a little. There’s a bruise forming on his ribs where the guy punched him in the stomach, but beyond that, Dean’s chest is…perfect. It’s toned but with a slight softness round the middle, indicating that he takes care of himself. Castiel shakes the thought away, instead pressing around his ribs to ensure they aren’t broken either. Thankfully they’re not, but is doesn’t stop Dean wincing when they’re touched.

“You can’t work tonight, Dean. You need to rest.”

“Yeah, right. Look man, I don’t have a choice, ok? I need the money.”

“What are you so desperate for that you’ll hurt yourself further?” It’s out before he can stop it.

“Fuck you, Castiel,” is the response as Dean rolls his t shirt down. “You know nothing about me.”

It’s true, and Castiel immediately regrets it. It must show in his face because Dean ‘s hard stare softens. “Besides, if they’re fucking me from behind they’re not really bothered about my face, you know?”

Castiel stares at him for a while, and notices a glint in his eye. “You’re joking, right?” he says carefully/

Dean gives him a small smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They stand in silence for a few moments, before Dean coughs. “So…this apology. Does it come with fries?”

Castiel can’t help but laugh at the boldness of the man. He washes his own face, and walks out into the diner with Dean. There’s a few people in there, truckers mostly, he eventually finds a suitably private table for the two of them, and they both sit down opposite each other. Dean immediately grabs the menu, looking through all the options and ‘hmmm’ –ing in contentment.

Castiel looks at the meals—it’s all greasy fast food and apart from the mouthful of burger he’d had the night he encountered Dean, he hasn’t really indulged. He might as well go for broke he thinks, and is about to call a waitress over when Dean does it for him.

“Can I have…the bacon and cheese burger, with extra cheese, bacon extra crispy, and a side order of fries, please?”

“Of course,” the waitress says, writing it down. “And for you?” She says, looking at Castiel, who is still reeling from shock at the amount of food Dean’s ordered.

I’ll have…the same. But instead of fries I’ll have salad, please.” 

She writes it down and walks away. “Knew you’d be an ‘extra salad’ guy,” says Dean.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You got the ‘salad-eater’ look about you. Which is why I’m kinda surprised you brought me to a diner. And ordered the bacon cheeseburger.”

“I like burgers. Occasionally.”

“’Occasionally’ is about right. You need to eat more. I thought that the first night I saw you.”

“Oh,” Castiel responds. It’s true, he doesn’t eat properly. Or sleep well, or look after himself in any way, but it’s unsettling to have a virtual stranger tell him. It’s unsettling to have a stranger actually have even a modicum of concern for his wellbeing, which leads him to why he’s here in the first place.

He clears his throat, causing Dean to look him straight in the face, and for some reason he’s nervous. “So…I wanted to apologize. For being a total ass. I should have shown you some respect, and not treated you like I did, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Right, ok,” is all Dean says.

“You see,” Castiel continues, and while he’s sure Dean doesn’t want to sit in a diner with some asshole ex client and listen to all his woes, he somehow doesn’t want to stop. “I’m under a lot of pressure at work and, well you’ve probably gathered that I don’t have a whole lot of people to talk to and I’m not particularly good at making friends, and sometimes I just wanna…”

“Let off steam?” Dean offers.

Castiel nods. “Yes. That’s it. Sometimes I just want to forget for a while, and other times I just want to punch something. And…you kind of caught me in between, and I’m sorry I was so rude to you when you hadn’t done anything to warrant it. In fact, you were nothing but professional and tolerant and…well, that’s all I have to say, really. I don’t expect anything from you at all; just that you won’t think I’m a complete and utter idiot.”

He finishes, taking a deep breath. Dean’s eyes are still on him. “Woah,” he says. “That’s pretty…”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Dean laughs loudly, and Castiel feels somewhat embarrassed and slightly pissed off that Dean’s taking it so lightly. Dean takes one look at his face and stops, still smiling. “I’m not laughing at you; I’m laughing at this whole thing right here. I mean, you gotta admit, it’s kinda weird.”

It’s true. In fact it’s more than that, it’s absurd. He can’t help but smile too, and Dean’s face breaks into an all out grin. “See, that’s better isn’t it?”

It is, it really is.

Their food arrives, and Castiel gawps at the sheer size of it. There’s no way he’ll eat all of it. If he does, he won’t need to eat for a week. Seeing the way Dean tucks in though, watching him shovel fries into his mouth before taking a bite of the burger and exclaiming, “Oh yeah, that’s it. That’s good,” Castiel can’t help but follow. He takes a bite, and his tongue tingles as his mouth is flooded with flavor. It’s good, really good.

“So, I guess you wanna know about me, right?”

He does, he realizes. He desperately does. “I…I mean I don’t really expect anything from you, Dean.”

“Yeah I know, but you’ve told me something about your shitty life, so I thought I’d tell you about mine.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Yeah I know, but for some reason I kinda want to, so I’m gonna.” It’s as simple as that.

“Go ahead.” Castiel is fascinated. He’s never had much of a conversation with a rent boy, an ‘escort’ as Dean calls himself, and he wants desperately to know what made Dean do it. He seems pretty intelligent, pretty resourceful yet he’s whoring himself out on street corners.

“So, I don’t really want to be an ‘escort.’ I know, big surprise, big cliché, whatever. The thing is, it’s easy money. I’m good at it, the hours kinda suit me and you know, I can make more money in one night than I could repairing cars for a week. Course, I liked doing that better, but I need the money.”

“What for?”

Dean picks up a fry and starts chewing, talking as he does so. “Not for me, really, but for my brother. See,” he pushes his cell phone towards Castiel, showing him the picture of him and the other guy on the wallpaper. “That’s my brother. He’s…really smart. I mean, really smart. I guess that you’re some kind of businessman, right?”

“Accountant.”

“Yeah, thought as much. Trench coat kinda gave it away. Anyway, you’re obviously smart but Sammy, my brother, Sammy’s really smart, and he’s gonna go to Law School once he finishes his senior year and well, that costs money. See my parents…my mom died when Sammy was a baby and my dad…took it hard. He hasn’t been around all that much, never had a job, so we’ve kind of had to fend for ourselves most of the time, earning what we could.”

“Oh right,” Castiel says, and immediately feels guilty. His upbringing was totally different; there was always money, far, far too much money, and his life was so structured around schooling, exams, getting into the right university, doing the right subjects and then walking into an accountancy job that his father had set up because he was good friends with the partners. His life was completely set out for him, and he never had to think about anything himself until he left to start his job.

“Yeah, so I started working on cars, and got a job fixing up old classics, but it never paid much. Then I found I could make a few bucks giving blowjobs outside this club, but I didn’t want it to be seedy, you know? So I signed up with this escort agency. It was still sex, but it was kind of a higher class of sex, right? No dirty back alleys; all hotel rooms and penthouses, proper businessmen with real money.”

Castiel finishes his fries, motioning for the waitress to pour him coffee. “So, you’re still working for an agency?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah. See the thing was, we never discussed money with clients—it was always paid for through the agency and I got given a wage. Then one time this guy offers me double what he was paying to fuck me without a condom. I refused, right, but asked what that would be because I wanted to know what he was actually paying. Turns out, the agency’d been taking half my pay. Half! So I quit, said I could do it on my own and here I am. I make around $400 a night, depending on trade and what they want to do. Most of what I earn gets saved for Sammy—I don’t’ want him to have to do this, or get some other shitty job. I want him to go to Law School, get some god damn qualifications, show those assholes what a kid with a shitty background can do.”

Castiel can see the emotion in Dean’s face as he talks, the passion, the pride in his voice when he mentions his brother. It’s probably the most selfless thing he’s heard anyone doing, which kind of makes him feel even more guilty for the way he treated him that night. Still, he’s making amends now.

“That’s…I had no idea.”

“Well you wouldn’t. You’re just some suit, right?”

It hurts a little when Dean says it, the brutal honestly cutting through Castiel. “That’s not true.” He replies.

“Nah, you’re right. Guess we both needed time to get to know each other.” Dean smiles, and Castiel finds his own face mirroring that smile. He finishes his coffee, and checks his watch. “Oh,” he says, and Dean looks up from his drink.

“What?”

“We’re over an hour. I’m sorry.”

Dean waves his hand in dismissal. “Nah, don’t be. I’m actually having a good time.”

“Me too.” Despite his apprehension, Castiel’s enjoying himself. Dean is open, easy to talk to, and Castiel doesn’t feel on edge around him, like he constantly has to prove himself. Dean’s honest, no holds barred, direct. It’s refreshing compared to the other people he knows (excepting Gabriel of course, because his brother is always the exception) and he finds himself reluctant to let this finish now.

They both stand up, Castiel leaving cash on the table. Dean stops him. “Dude I was joking. I’ll pay. I’m not destitute.”

“No. I want to. Consider it my final, final apology.”

Dean shrugs his shoulders and smiles. “Fine. Whatever. Thanks, Cas.”

“Cas?”

Dean looks a little sheepish. “Yeah. I don’t really do long names when I get to know people.”

“It’s fine. I…think I like it.” Castiel does like it. He likes it a lot.

 

They exit the diner and walk to the car, with Dean insisting he needs to work. Castiel doesn’t argue, knowing now exactly what Dean is doing it for even if he doesn’t agree that he should. Instead he offers to drive him back, which Dean readily accepts.

They get in, and Castiel starts to drive, a little crestfallen that the evening has to end. He’s enjoyed himself, had good conversation with someone who is genuinely interesting. If he’d been on a date, he’d say it was going well. He’s not, however, and curses his brain for even thinking that for a moment, knowing exactly what this is. Chances are, he’ll never see Dean again unless he goes trawling for a hooker again, which is probably unlikely given what he’s done tonight.

“So,” Dean starts. “Castiel. Why’d your parents call you Castiel?”

“It’s the angel of Thursday. I was born on a Thursday, and my parents are incredibly religious so they thought it appropriate I was named after an angel.”

“Ok. Weird, but kinda cool.”

“Not really.” He stops at a stoplight and turns to look at Dean. “It’s probably the most attention they ever paid to me in my entire life. My father was never there; he just threw money at us and thought that would make up for the lack of affection. My life has basically been mapped out for me since I was born. I never really had a choice in what I did; that choice was taken away. The only person who escaped was my brother and he’s been made virtual pariah for daring to disagree.”

The stoplight turns green, and Castiel continues to drive. “Sorry, man. Guess we both have mommy and daddy issues, right?” Dean says.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Castiel replies, and he’s smiling, though he doesn’t know why.

Eventually they turn into Dean’s usual hangout, with no sign of the guy who beat him. Dean steps out the car with a ‘thanks’ and saunters towards his usual spot while Castiel watches. Suddenly he stops and turns back, walking towards the driver’s window which Castiel immediately winds down. He looks slightly uneasy for some reason.

“Hey, man. This might sound weird but…I had a good time tonight, you know, apart from the beating and everything. I thought…maybe you wouldn’t mind doing this again? I mean, I have the occasional night off and I guess you could do with some company too, even it is from an escort, right?”

Castiel thinks for a moment. “I would, Dean. I would. Thankyou.”

“So…how about Wednesdays, huh? Don’t get much trade on a Wednesday and it gets pretty lonely, what with the hours and everything. So…whatd’ya say?” He’s shuffling from foot to foot, as if nervous about Castiel’s answer. It’s strange how things have changed in just a couple of hours.

“Wednesdays would be…perfect.” Castiel says, smiling. It gives him an excuse to leave work on time, something to do of an evening even if it is only once a week.

“Awesome. So, what’s your number?”

So Castiel finds himself giving Dean his cell phone number, and telling him that if he is in any trouble, he should call him right away, he’ll always come and help. Dean agrees, giving him a smile and a wave as he walks away. 

Castiel drives home more slowly than usual, taking the time to think about the evening and how everything has unfolded. This wasn’t in the plan, he thinks idly, but then sometimes life is all about surprises, so Gabriel tells him, and Gabriel to his credit is generally right about these things.

 

They meet up the very next week at a rendezvous point between the red light area and Castiel’s offices. It’s neutral ground which Castiel likes, and to the outside viewer it could be just two friends meeting up for a burger and conversation. Which, he smiles to himself when he thinks about it, is exactly what it is.

They eat in an all-night café, and Castiel is pleased when he sees Dean looking better than the week before. Dean tells him the bruises on his ribs have completely healed, and while his nose is still a little tender, the swelling has gone along with the majority of his black eyes. He takes the opportunity to shove his face forward while Castiel examines it closely, holding his chin in his hands as he looks carefully over the skin. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Castiel can feel himself growing red, so he pulls away and smiles, heart beating just a little faster when he sees Dean smiling too, a mirroring flush creeping up his neck.

They talk easily about their lives, with Castiel moaning about his boss and how he’s sure a few more people will be laid off by the time the month is out. He also mentions that the new intern, Chuck, has been found writing rather explicit fiction instead of concentrating on some of the lesser accounts.

“Is it any good?” Dean says while munching on his fries.”

“Not really. Standard stuff—gay fiction written by someone who is absolutely straight. Some of it’s accurate but the rest…I’ve never had that happen to me, not in my limited experience anyway.”

“Not in your wildest dreams, right?” Dean asks, smiling.

“Something like that,” Castiel replies. 

“So, he gonna get laid off?”

“No. They wouldn’t. The Shurley’s are like my family but a whole lot richer. Lose Chuck, and Adler, Stein and Partners lose probably their biggest account. They wouldn’t dare.”

Dean smiles. “Money talks, right?”

“In the accountancy business? Of course it does.”

It’s so easy, talking to Dean. Castiel feels he could sit with him for hours and they could just talk about everything and nothing. Dean tells him how Sam is doing, how he’s almost a certain candidate for Stanford Law School, and Dean just needs to keep doing what he’s doing so he can earn the money to put him through it. Dean is so determined, so focused on his goal that it’s almost mind boggling. He’s so driven, Castiel wonders what he would have become if he’d had the kind of upbringing Castiel had had. He wouldn’t be merely working at Adler, Stein and Partners, he’d own it, Castiel is sure.

He finds himself staring as Dean talks, watching his mouth as he takes a bite of his burger, his lips pursing in thought before he says anything. For a moment Castiel is lost, only coming back to his senses when he hears the waitress asking if he wants some more coffee. He nods, and when he looks back to Dean, their eyes meet for a second before Dean looks down to finish his meal.

They finish up and exit the diner, Dean telling Castiel that he doesn’t live too far from here, and it’s an easy walk to the small apartment he shares with Sam. Castiel wonders if Sam knows what Dean does, thinking that he’s probably unaware, and Dean would want to keep it that way. They say their goodbyes, both standing a little awkwardly and staring at each other. 

“So, uh, see you next week?” Dean says; it’s more of a question than a statement, and Castiel’s heart can’t help but give a little flutter at the hint of hope in Dean’s voice.

“Of course. Same time?”

“Yeah, definitely. Well, I’ll see you around, Cas. Until next week.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel says, stepping into his car. He presses his horn lightly as he drives past Dean, smiling as the man waves to him. He knows he’s getting himself into something deeper here, but at the moment, he doesn’t care. He can handle it.

 

Later that night he jacks himself off thinking of deep green eyes and a kilowatt smile, coming hard over his fingers and moaning ‘Dean’ as he does it. When he’s finished, spent and panting, he lies on his bed, thinking about what Dean must be doing; laid out on a stranger’s bed, being used, fucked again and again before taking his money. The thoughts he’s having, the feelings he’s having after knowing the guy for barely two weeks, it’s futile. Merely a fantasy and nothing more, but it doesn’t stop Castiel thinking about it.

He stands up, walking slightly shakily to the bathroom to clean the mess up. He doesn’t want to think about what this means. He can’t. He just needs to look forward, take what he’s stumbled upon at face value. In just two weeks Dean’s become a friend, the only the one Castiel has had in an age. He’s a hooker, no matter what he says, and Castiel can’t get involved any further.

He tells himself he can handle it. He hopes to a God he has long since given up on that he’s right.

“Can I tell you something?” Dean says at one of their meetings. It’s been just over two months of weekly rendezvous, not that Castiel is counting. Two months of seeing Dean every Wednesday, of going to the same diner and gradually working their way through the menu, of Castiel listening to Dean with rapt attention as he talks about his life, how family is important to him, and how he often puts Sam’s welfare above his own. 

“What?” Says Castiel, moving lettuce around with his fork. He’s gone for the Caesar salad this time, much to Dean’s disgust. Dean looks slightly nervous, and Castiel thinks that the signs aren’t good. As their meetings have gone on, he has the growing feeling that Dean will one day put an end to them, that he’ll move on and leave Castiel exactly where he is with no idea how much his company means to him. 

“I really look forward to seeing you. You know, I look forward to coming here and just…hanging out. Hearing you bitch and moan about your job and having someone to bitch and moan to about mine.”

Dean doesn’t talk about his job that much and to be honest, Castiel’s quite glad of that. He does regale him with stories of the occasional asshole client, or some of the weird requests he gets that he just has to turn down. The one last week, “Diaper Guy” as Dean called him, had Castiel spitting his coffee out all over the table while Dean howled with laughter.

It’s funny, because Castiel can completely separate what Dean does with the stories he tells. He can laugh at them without having to think of Dean on the streets, picking up guys and letting them use him however they want for the right price. Dean still has his principles, sure, but Castiel’s not certain he can reconcile the Dean he’s come to know with the hooker he met that night. It’s like they’ve separated themselves in his brain, and that’s what makes it easier to laugh along with Dean’s stupid stories.

Castiel has never laughed so much than when he’s with Dean, and he thanks…whoever that he has this at least. Even if it is only for a couple of hours once a week.

“You know,” Castiel says thoughtfully, carefully, “I do too.”

“Really?” Dean’s eyes are wide and he’s smiling.

“Yes. I like to just be myself here, not have to pretend I’m this professional guy who doesn’t get stressed, doesn’t feel pressurized.”

“I have seen you loosen up a little, Cas,” Dean says, chewing on a chicken wing. “It’s like, I dunno, you’re kinda more relaxed, like you smile a lot more.”

“Do I?” Castiel says, and can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

Dean’s eyes light up, and he smiles too. “Yeah, just like that. You look so good when you smile, you should do it more often,” he says, before instantly finding something interesting to stare at on his plate.

“Maybe I will,” Castiel replies. “Maybe I have more to smile about these days.”

 

Castiel doesn’t know when the texting started, just that one day it did and it makes him smile whenever he receives one. It’s nearly the end of Thursday and he’s sitting at work, idly ploughing through an excel spreadsheet that Chuck put together. It’s awful; an utter mess of numbers and formulas that just don’t add up correctly. He should really stick to writing, Castiel thinks, because although he’s mediocre at that, he’s absolutely awful at accounting. He pulls out his phone, and sends a text to Dean which just says:

_Having seen his ‘accountancy’ skills, I believe Chuck should stick to writing_

His phone beeps immediately. _You bitch ;p_

Castiel smiles, now knowing what ‘;p’ means thanks to Dean, before putting his phone away in his pocket. Chuck’s not been getting on so great since he started at the company, and Zachariah in his infinite wisdom had decided he needed a mentor, with Castiel being the one to pick up that particular duty. ‘Pick up’ is probably not the right word; what had happened was he was called into Zachariah’s office and practically commanded to take Chuck on, with the caveat being, “If he fucks up, Novak, it’ll be your neck on the chopping block.”

Castiel goes back to looking at the spreadsheet, scrolling thought the numbers until something at the bottom makes him stop.

The totals don’t add up properly. In fact, given the income at the start of the sheet, the tax should be twice as high as Chuck has allowed for, meaning the client has paid too little and could be faced with a hefty fine or even worse. Castiel scrolls through reams and reams of numbers, bile rising in his throat as he does because it’s not just a small mistake, it’s a huge one.

The client’s not one of their biggest, but the Campbells do bring in a fair amount of revenue and their loss would be pretty significant to the company. Not ‘bankruptcy’ kind of a loss, but still a hefty one.

As Castiel scrolls though, he can feel his heart beating faster and faster. He knows what this is, having experienced it before at high school when Raphael Morris had called him a ‘fag’ and threatened to tell his parents. The color seems to drain out of the room gradually, and there’s a ringing in his ears that gets louder, louder.

He can hear Zachariah’s voice echoing around his head, “We all know Shurley’s untouchable, so that just leaves you, Novak.”

He can’t be fired. He needs this job. He doesn’t want to go crawling back to his parents, asking them for help and having to abide by what they say. He can’t do it. He wants to make his own way, even if it’s what his parents had planned for him all along. He doesn’t want to think about what he would do if he was fired. He wouldn’t be able to get another job, wouldn’t be able to keep his apartment, wouldn’t be able to meet up with Dean…

He gets up and practically runs to the bathroom in a stupor. His ears are popping, and he’s finding it difficult to breathe. He dives into a cubicle and sits on the toilet, watching as the gray walls swirl in front of him as he loses consciousness.

 

He wakes, not 20 seconds later, and immediately turns to throw up into the toilet bowl. He hates it, the aftermath of a panic attack. His hands are shaking and he feels weak, but he pulls himself up and stands there, leaning on the side of the cubicle while he gathers his thoughts. He feels for his phone in his pocket and dials Gabriel’s number. Gabriel will know what to do; Gabriel’s good at this sort of thing.

There’s no answer, and Castiel whines in despair, only to have a knock on the door and a familiar voice say, “Hey man, are you ok in there?”

Chuck, of all people. Castiel opens the door to see Chuck step back in shock. “Wow, you look terrible.”

He wants to hit him. The poor, stupid, oblivious man. He wants to hit him because he’s just ruined his life.

“Did you look through my spreadsheet?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies weakly, the nausea rising again.

“Oh right. Cos I did something pretty stupid. You see I sent you the wrong version. Missouri looked through what I’d done and I’d charged them wrong or something, so I amended it on later versions but didn’t send you it. Sorry about that, man.”

“You never…it was never sent to the client?”

Chuck shakes his head. “No, no. Missouri says I can never send anything out until she’s checked it and you’ve done the final check. Says I could bring down the company and everyone in it or something.” Chuck smiles, completely oblivious to the chaos he causes.

“Oh, God,” Castiel says, the relief washing through him and making his legs shake.

“Castiel are you sure you’re ok?”

“It’s fine, Chuck. Honestly. It’s the end of the day and you should be going home.”

“Really? Wow, time flies in his place, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes it does,” Castiel says. He’s beginning to get tired as the last of the adrenaline drains out of his system. Chuck smiles and turns to go, while Castiel stays, thinking. He absently picks up his phone again to see if Gabriel’s there, but presses the wrong button and instead calling the number of the last text message he received.

Shit, shit he thinks, but before he can hang up Dean’s already answered.

“Cas, man, you ok? You don’t normally call.”

“I’m…ok. I just…” he doesn’t know what to say—‘I’m an idiot and had a panic attack over nothing, then called your number by mistake?’ No, he can’t.

“You sound awful. You’re not sick or anything?”

“No, not really.”

“You sound sick. Look, you gotta take a day off from that place, I’m telling you. It’s not doing you any good.”

“I can’t. I just…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

“I said, don’t worry about it. Speak to you soon.” The phone clicks off, and Castiel stands there, wondering what the hell just happened. He walks over to the sinks and washes his face before returning to his desk, shutting down the offending spreadsheet.

It’s then he feels the tap on his back and when he turns around, Zachariah is staring at him. “Go home,” he says.

“What?”

“HR have called. They’ve spoken to your doctor and we’re well aware of your illness. I don’t want any more of my staff coming down with flu. I don’t want to see you here until Monday, you got that Novak?”

“I..” Castiel is totally confused.

“This is your one and only sick day this quarter, you understand?”

“I, yes, yes I do,”

“Good. Go home.”

Zachariah walks away, pulling out a small tube of hand sanitizer and squirting it liberally over his hands. Castiel can’t believe it. Dean had actually called up and got him a day off.

As if on cue, his phone starts ringing. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. So, guess you got a day to yourself tomorrow?”

“I…yes.”

“Good, you can meet me at the usual place then, 11am. Give me chance to sleep off the night shift.”

“But why?”

Dean sighs audibly. “Because you’re working so hard, you don’t owe them anything, and it’s not good for you. You’re always so stressed and you gotta learn your job isn’t everything, right? So usual place, 11am.”

“But what are we doing?”

“Ah, that’s for me to know, and you to find out. See you tomorrow, Cas.” Then phone clicks off, and as Castiel grabs his coat, he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

 

He arrives promptly at 11am the next day, to find Dean already waiting for him, standing next to what looks like a large toolbox. He’s wearing some low slung jeans and a faded lack t-shirt with ‘Led Zeppelin’ emblazoned on it. He looks…really good, with his eyes glinting in the sun and Castiel knows it’s going to be an effort for him to keep his hands to himself. Dean spots him and waves, smiling.

“Hey,” he says as Castiel pulls up. “How did it feel to have a lie in this morning?”

“Great.” It’s true; Castiel had slept better than he had in ages knowing he didn’t need to worry about work for once. It was…liberating to say the least.

Dean picks up the toolbox and carries it around to the trunk, while Castiel gets out to unlock it. He eyes the box suspiciously. “What’s in the box?”

“Coupla rods, some bait, coupla chairs…” Dean says nonchalantly, as though the answer should be obvious.

“Fishing?”

Dean’s grin gets wider as he shuts the trunk. “Yeah, most relaxing thing I know. When things were kinda shitty with my dad, I’d always disappear to the nearest river, catch a few fish and sit on the side cooking and eating them. Never failed to make me feel better. Kinda gives you a chance to think, put things into perspective.”

“I see.”

They both get into the car and Castiel starts driving, with Dean directing him. They head out of town and down a pretty dusty track to a lake. It’s not huge, but it’s big enough to contain all sorts of fish Castiel imagines. Castiel parks up and they haul the box out of the trunk, walking out to the jetty and setting up their chairs. Castiel stares out across the water, watching as the surface ripples, glistening under the reflection of the sun. There’s a group of birds chattering in a tree on the other side, and around it he can make out the forms of other fishermen, sitting there quietly, rods dangling in the water as they wait patiently for a bite.

“You like it here?” Dean asks as he puts the rods together and sets them up.

“I do,” Castiel says, “very much. It’s very…calming.”

“Exactly. Just what you need. You gotta learn to relax sometimes.” Castiel is inclined to agree. “Here, I’ll teach you how to cast off.”

Dean hands him a rod, and suddenly his arms are around him, his face resting on his shoulder. Castiel can feel the slight tickle of his lips on his neck and it makes him shudder. Dean’s hands grip his arms, swaying the rod and teaching him to throw the line far into the water. He feels…solid, sure, dependable. It’s wonderful, and Castiel realizes how difficult today’s going to be in terms of keeping his feelings in check. To think he almost threw this away.

“So like this,” Dean says, casting the line far into the water. Castiel watches with fascination as it dips into the water, creating a huge circle of ripples that expand outwards. “Now, sit down, and just wait.” He does, momentarily disappointed that Dean’s arms are no longer around him.

Dean casts his own line out and they sit like that for a couple of hours, just talking about everything and nothing. With every word spoken Castiel finds himself falling harder, faster, and for a moment he can forget who they are, what they do and the pressures they are under. Dean pulls out some premade sandwiches and they sit and eat, rods and thoughts of catching fish long forgotten in the sheer enjoyment of each other’s company. Eventually, after 3 hours of not even a bite, they decide to call it a day and pack up, loading up the box and heaving it into the trunk of the car.

“So, where do you want to go?” Castiel asks as he starts the engine.

“Well, if you could take me to my apartment, that’d be awesome. The box is a bitch to carry.”

“Ok, show me the way,” Castiel says, his heart beating just that little bit faster.

Dean’s apartment is in an ok area of town—not the best, but certainly not the worst. Castiel offers to carry the box upstairs as the elevator is broken, and Dean inevitably invites him in. The apartment is small, rather cramped, but homely. There are pictures of Sam and Dean everywhere, and one of a man he figures must be their father.

“Sammy’s at school,” Dean says as he walks into the small kitchenette. “Coffee?”

“Yes please,” Castiel answers as he sits down on the small couch.

Dean brings the coffee through, sitting next to him, perhaps a little too close for comfort. Yes the couch is small, but Castiel’s not particularly large so there’s room. He doesn’t complain, liking having Dean close to him. Wishes it could be more.

He sips his coffee. Dean echoes his movements and as they put their cups down on the rickety coffee table, their eyes meet.

He’s blinded by his smile, staring straight into his eyes and something inside him just breaks, can’t help it. It seems Dean thinks the same thing because as Castiel moves forward so does he until their lips meet in a crushing kiss. It’s hard, a little frantic and a little bit amazing as their mouths move together, lips parting in tandem as tongues delve inside and push against each other.

Dean’s arms wrap around him, pushing him down onto the couch and the weight on top of him is glorious. He’s hard, and he arches up as Dean continues to kiss him, causing Dean to groan and grind his own hardness into him. The kisses get deeper, more urgent, until Castiel has to break away and breathe for a moment, looking up at Dean’s kiss-swollen lips, red flush creeping down that gorgeous neck.

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” Dean asks, his voice husky.

Castiel answers with another searing kiss, before he’s pulled up and dragged into Dean’s small bedroom. There are various posters on the wall, a large stack of tapes on a wobbly shelf, and various bits of what Castiel thinks are engine parts scattered here and there. Castiel feels himself pushed onto the bed, Dean still kissing him thoroughly before he breaks away to kiss down his neck while he undoes his shirt.

“So beautiful,” Dean moans as he kisses down to Castiel’s collar bone, pulling his shirt off him to expose his chest. Castiel pulls Dean’s t shirt up, letting him step back to maneuver it over his head before pressing their chests together. Castiel can’t help but groan—Dean’s all hard lines with a softness to his belly, and he looks amazing. Then Dean starts to undo Castiel’s jeans, pulling them down to his knees along with his boxers and exposing his cock, hard and leaking. 

“Just as good as I remembered,” Dean says, and Castiel stops for a moment, thinking about what happened the last time, what situation they had been in. He can’t do this…he can’t…it’s…it’s…

But then Dean’s wrapped his lips around him and Castiel finds he can’t think anymore, just wants to thrust up into Dean’s warm and willing mouth, come down his throat. He was right about his blow job skills—his tongue is amazing, and he knows just the right movements to make, just the right pressure to apply and where. When Castiel opens his eyes he can see Dean has a hand down his own pants, stroking himself and moaning in pleasure. They need to stop this, or it’s going to be over before they’ve started.

“Dean,” Castiel says.

“Mmhmmm,” Dean moans around his cock.

“It’s…it’s too good. Please, or I’ll…”

Dean pulls off and Castiel all out whimpers until Dean’s lips are on his again. “You taste so good,” Dean says into his lips, “Could suck on you all evening.”

“Dean,” Castiel moans.

“Not now though. Want you inside me.”

He pulls off, pulling Castiel’s jeans down and off along with his shoes and socks. Then he pulls his own jeans down, exposing his cock into the air. It’s red and flushed, and leaking slightly at the top. Castiel wants to lean over, take him in his mouth but he knows he can’t. He knows Dean has regular check ups and tests, but he doesn’t want to take the risk.

Dean opens a drawer at the side of his bed, pulling out lube and a condom. He then goes back to kissing Castiel hard and long while Castiel takes him in hand and starts jerking him off in long, slow strokes. “Want you,” Dean says as he kisses him. “Want you so badly, Cas.”

Castiel can echo the sentiment. He’s managed to shut off the part of his brain that tells him this is a bad idea, and instead is concentrating on the part that has been sorely neglected; the part that needs company, wants to feel wanted, loved, adored.

Castiel pulls away, spreading lube on his fingers before working his way down the bed so he’s sitting between Dean’s knees. Dean hitches himself up, watching Castiel with rapt fascination as he circles a finger around his hole, teasing him, dipping the pad of his finger inside before pulling out. Castiel looks up at Dean and smiles, knowing that he’s teasing, that he’s making Dean wait. Dean huffs in amused annoyance, understanding exactly what he’s doing before his face suddenly contorts in pleasure as Castiel finally pushes his finger inside. 

He’s tight, tighter than expected, but then he’d told Castiel before that most of what he does is blow jobs, so he guesses that’s no surprise. Again Castiel stops when he thinks about it, just for a second, but it’s enough to make Dean notice.

“Cas,” he says, voice hoarse. “You ok?”

“I…yeah. Yes, I’m ok.” He pulls his finger out, pushing two inside and the way Dean moans…he can’t stop it now. He can’t. He’s wanted this for so long, why shouldn’t he have something that _he_ wants just for once?

Dean starts to move, starts to fuck himself on Castiel’s fingers, loosening himself up. Castiel adds a third, pumping them in and out before curling them slightly to rub on his prostate. Dean arches up, moaning loudly. “Cas. God Cas I want you, need you inside me. Please?”

“My God Dean you’re so…so,” he doesn’t have the words to describe what Dean looks like, fucking himself on his fingers and begging him to be inside him. He looks glorious, and a tingle fizzes up Castiel’s spine.

He pulls his fingers out, rolling on the condom quickly and spreading more lube on his hard and aching cock. He goes to turn Dean over, but Dean stops him. “No,” he says, “no. I do it that way when I’m.... I want to see your face. Please?”

Castiel nods, lining himself up with Dean’s entrance. He leans down, kisses Dean as he pushes inside. He’s tight, and it’s been so long since Castiel has done this he has to take a minute to compose himself. He takes a deep breath, and starts thrusting, slowly at first before building up a rhythm that has Dean moaning and panting.

“Yes,” he cries. “Oh god, that’s good.”

“Dean,” Castiel moans. “You’re so…it’s so…you feel so good.”

“Cas, need you. Need more. Please,” Dean moans, and Castiel speeds up, fucking into him as Dean grips the head of the bed and holds on tight. He’s going faster, faster, getting lost in the feel of Dean tight around him. He must hit Dean’s prostate because Dean moans louder, wanting more and moving his body to meet Castiel’s thrusts.

Castiel continues to thrust, faster and faster, hitting Dean’s prostate with every stroke. He looks down, sees where they’re bodies are joined, and is about to reach for Dean’s cock when Dean suddenly arches up. “Fuck!” He moans almost desperately. “Fuck, you’re making me come!”

Dean’s dick spurts, untouched, all over his stomach as he moans and writhes, and the sight knocks Castiel off his rhythm for a while—he has never, ever done this to anyone before, never made them come untouched, didn’t even think it was possible. He starts again, going faster and faster until he can feel himself start to break, feel his orgasm coming as he thrusts one last time, filling the condom as he calls Dean’s name.

They stay, still joined together and panting until Castiel’s arms give way and he collapses on top of Dean, not caring about the mess on his stomach.

“Oh my god, Cas,” Dean says, amazement evident in his voice. “I’ve never…that was amazing.”

Castiel slips out, pulling the condom off and tying the end before walking to the bathroom. He brings back tissue, giving some to Dean as they wipe each other off. Then, Dean pulls the covers off, sliding inside and patting the mattress, indicating for Cas to follow. He does, and lies there, wrapped in Dean’s arms as their heartbeats slow down, making an effort to not think about what happens next.

He knows Dean has to get up soon, has to get dressed, go out and stand on a street corner inviting people to do whatever they want with him. Castiel doesn’t want to think about it, refuses to. He just wants this, now, whatever it is.

He’s just slipping into a light doze, reveling in Dean’s warmth and the feel of his arms around him. His eyes are closed and he can feel soft lips pressing butterfly kisses into his skin. It feels good. He sighs in contentment, moving closer and burrowing his head under the covers and into Dean’s shoulder.

It’s then that he feels Dean kiss the top of his head. “Cas?” he says softly.

“Mmmhmm?” Castiel mumbles sleepily.

“I think…I think I love you.”

Castiel just mumbles again, not entirely certain he’s heard correctly and preferring not to think about anything at all.

 

They have sex again once they wake from their sleep; it’s quicker, hurried, with both of them desperate to come before Sam comes home and walks in on them. Castiel leaves then, with Dean promising to call him tomorrow. He knows he can’t see him tonight because Dean… has other things to do. Castiel refuses to think about what; just that he can’t see him. 

Instead, they agree to meet up on Saturday while Sam’s working his part time job as a barista at the small coffee shopnin town. No sooner than has knocked on the door of the apartment and been let inside, Castiel finds himself pushed up against the door with Dean kissing him frantically. “Missed you,” he says, even though it’s only been a day.

Castiel can’t help noticing a small bruise on Dean’s chest when he takes his shirt off. He wonders where Dean got it from, before stopping the thought before it has a chance to take hold in his mind. Then Dean has his lips wrapped around his cock, and Castiel finds it easier to not think about it any longer.

Again they have sex, but this time it’s softer, slower. It truly is the best Castiel’s ever had, until he notices some small marks across the smooth expanse of Dean’s ass and his mind wanders, thinking about how Dean got them, what he must have been doing, what must have been done to him. Again the thought is bitten down as he thrusts harder into Dean, letting pleasure overtake his thoughts until he sees Dean come apart at the seams, and follows him soon afterwards.

After that, there’s a few lazy kisses before Castiel has to go. Sam will be back soon, Dean has chores to do and Castiel has to do his usual Saturday duties, which mainly consists of shopping, tidying and generally recovering from a hard week at work.

He kisses Dean goodbye; it’s long and slow, with just a hint of desperation, and they promise to meet up in the usual spot on Wednesday. Castiel gets the impression that Dean wants to keep Wednesdays as they were—just talking, eating and generally enjoying each other’s company. He finds he can’t refuse, having enjoyed the chance to let off steam, laugh with Dean and eat a proper meal.

 

The grocery store is incredibly busy, and it’s dark by the time he gets back home. As soon as he puts everything away and sets down to rest, his phone rings. It’s Gabriel.

“Hey bro! Long time no speak! Whatcha doing?”

“Hi, Gabriel,” he says, almost sighing at his brother’s perpetual enthusiasm. “Nothing much, just filling up my kitchen with a few groceries.”

“Damn, shoulda called earlier. You’d better get some extra in, cos I’m coming in Sunday evening.”

“This Sunday?”

“No, no no. Next Sunday.” Castiel sighs in relief. As much as he loves his brother, and he does love him, he has to work up to his visits. Gabriel can be likened to a whirlwind when he visits, creating chaos and devastation wherever he goes before flying off again, leaving those left to sweep up the debris. “So yeah,” Gabriel continues, “you’d better be ready. Told you I was coming.”

“You said you’d be over in a couple of weeks—that was over two months ago.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one good at Math, not me Cassy-o. Can’t expect me to be accurate on the details.”

Castiel can’t help but laugh at this. Gabriel’s timings have always been off—he supposes he should have expected it.

“Whoa, Castiel…was that _laughter_ I just heard?”

“What? Can’t I laugh?” Castiel says, suddenly getting defensive.

“Yeah but we’re not due for another total eclipse yet. You’re early.”

“I can laugh if I want to.”

“But…you sound happy. Like, unusual-for-Castiel-I’m-normally-so-serious happy.” The line goes silent for a moment as Gabriel thinks. “Have you met someone?”

“No,” Castiel says, instantly realizing that he’s too quick to deny it.

“Oh my god! You dog, you have! What’s he like?”

“Shut up, Gabriel.”

“Ahhh, coy, I get it. Well, good for you. Can’t wait to meet him. He’s not an accountant, is he?”

No. He’s a…he’s a… “No,” Castiel says quietly, and he can feel bile rising in his throat.

“Great! Well, I gotta…go do stuff. See you in a week!”

The phone clicks off, and Castiel just sits there, staring at the handset. Him and Dean…it’s complicated. He doesn’t even know what it is yet. Dean told him he loves him and Castiel…he can’t think about it.

He spends the rest of the weekend pointedly not thinking about it. Dean has told him that Sundays are his and Sam’s day—Sam’s not working, so they spend it together, catching up because they don’t get to see too much of one another in the week. Castiel had smiled at the thought of this, thinking that it would be nice if he got to see Gabriel more instead of the odd random phone call or fleeting visit. Out of all his siblings, Gabriel is the one he admires the most, having broken the family mold and gone his own way. Yes, that made him a total outcast, but he doesn’t care. He’s living his own life, and is pretty darn happy about it. Many times Castiel has wished he has the strength of character to follow him.

Not seeing Dean means he has to think about their relationship more. Not seeing him means Castiel can’t just lose himself in sex and not think about what he’s getting himself into. He’s been trying to separate who Dean is and what he does with varying success; he needs to step things up a gear. Besides, he’s been in a non-exclusive relationship before while at college, where he’s had the freedom to fuck anyone he wanted and still had someone to come home to in the evenings. Of course, he had to deal with slipping into bed to smell someone else’s after shave all over Balthazar’s body, finding foreign underwear and used condoms, finding that his growing jealousy ruined everything when he stupidly fell in love and it ended in tatters. 

Dean is different, has told him he loves him which is something Castiel’s never really heard before. He doesn’t love his clients, just uses them for money and he’s only doing it so he can give his brother a better life. Dean loves him, he loves Castiel.

Castiel can cope with this.

 

Work on Monday is extremely difficult. It’s getting near the deadline for tax returns, and Castiel, as well as the other employees, are finding themselves staying later and later while poring over clients’ accounts. It’s the most important time of the year; ensuring tax returns are correct and sent in before deadline, which is often difficult when clients leave it to the absolute last minute to get their figures in. Because of the redundancies, everyone has more work than usual, and the atmosphere is tense, uptight, stressed.

That doesn’t extend its way to the partner’s offices, though. Each time Castiel walks past he gets more and more annoyed. Zachariah and Michael, sitting there, laughing, joking, doing no work whatsoever, not even offering to help out. Occasionally they’ll walk the floors, checking in on people and making half-assed jokes about tonight being another ‘late one’ and how maybe they should get some beds installed on the fourth floor so people can stay the night. It’s not funny, it shows a complete lack of awareness around the morale of their staff and how their actions affect that. It’s sickening.

All Castiel can do is keep his head down, sift through reams and reams of figures, and hope that he can come out of the other side. D Day is Thursday, midday. If he can just make it until then, he can make it through anything, surely.

Wednesday comes, the only shining beacon in Castiel’s existence. He’s late picking Dean up and when he gets to their usual spot, he’s not there. Castiel panics for a moment, the thought immediately coming to him that he’s picked up a client, before his phone beeps with a text message.

_Am already here. Figured you were running late so saved you a seat._

Of course. Of course Dean did. But then, Dean’s very thoughtful, Castiel muses, and suddenly there’s the ache in his heart that’s been following him around since Friday. He shakes himself, not wanting to think about it, before driving to the diner.

Dean greets him with kiss, deep and slow, and Castiel considers just ditching the diner and going back to Dean’s place. Dean pulls away, smiling, before settling down and telling him he’s already ordered for him.

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Castiel replies.

“You look…kinda stressed.”

“Tax returns,” Castiel says by way of explanation.

“Right. Busy then, yeah?”

“Very.” He calls the waitress over to pour him a coffee, taking a sip and practically burning his lips as he does so. “If I can get through this week, it should be ok. Deadline’s Thursday so after that, it should be fine. How about you?”

“Good. Good. Business is pretty good.”

A spike of hurt hits Castiel square in the chest. He feels nauseous, and it must show on his face because Dean shoots him a look of concern. “You ok, man?”

“Yes,” he manages. “I’m just…really hungry. You know when you’re stomach hurts because you haven’t eaten? It’s that.”

Dean nods. “Oh, ok. Look, I don’t wanna…I know what I do isn’t you know…great for a relationship but you’re the only person who isn’t…like me, that knows what I do and just accepts it. That means so much to me, meant so much even before this thing we’ve got going here.”

“Really?” Castiel doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to think about where it’s going. Thankfully he doesn’t have to, because before Dean can speak again, the waitress comes with their food, and Castiel changes the subject entirely by asking why Dean ordered him a huge portion of Buffalo wings.

They continue their evening in much the same fashion as before, chatting, laughing, generally enjoying each other’s company. The only difference is the evening ends with a fairly heavy make out session as a way of saying goodbye, with Dean winking at Castiel and telling him he’ll see him Saturday. Castiel gets into his car, watching as Dean saunters away and out of sight before he leans forward, sighing and hitting his head on the steering wheel. He can’t cope with this, with the stress of work, the stress of what’s going on with Dean, the fact that he can’t help it, can’t help his mind thinking about Dean getting fucked by other men however many times a night. This is what he signed up for, he tries to convince himself. He knew this before it started getting serious, was completely ok with it until everything changed.

He drives back home, opening a bottle of whiskey and drinking about a quarter of it before going to bed, alcohol-fuddled brain not thinking much at all.

 

Thursday is chaos. That’s the only way Castiel can describe it. Everybody is stressed, snapping at each other for no good reason. Castiel’s had clients shouting at him on the phone, expecting him to just drop everything so he deal with their finances above everyone else’s. It’s not pleasant, but then, it never is at this time of year and Castiel tries to take it all in his stride. Even when he’s being yelled at that he’s a useless piece of shit, he just tries to shrug it off.

The deadline comes, and, miracle of miracles, Castiel has managed to get everything in on time, just about. The Williams account is all signed off, which was his biggest worry, and as far as he can see, he’s done a good job. Even Chuck has managed it, without any major mishaps. He spends the afternoon consoling other employees, helping them clean up the mess of papers that cover everyone’s desks, and generally trying to be nice and congratulating them on a job well done. He sits back down to his own desk at just after 5pm, pulling out his phone to text Dean.

_All done. All submitted on time. Stress over. For now._

His phone beeps almost instantaneously. _Awesome! Knew u could do it. We’ll celebrate Sat ;D_

Castiel can’t help but smile, until there is a sharp tap on his shoulder.

“So it appears you don’t have any work to do, Mr. Novak. Is that why you’re texting in work hours?”

Castiel turns around to see Zachariah staring at him, his eyes wide.

“I’m…I’m just having a rest. It’s been a hard day.”

“Personal cell phones are not allowed to be used on company time; you know this, Novak.”

“Sir…”

Zachariah taps him on the shoulder. “Come with me. We need to have a private word.”

Castiel stands up, his legs suddenly shaking, and follows Zachariah to his office. “Shut the door,” Zachariah says, before motioning him to sit down.

Castiel sits, mouth suddenly dry. A small part of him hoped he would be congratulated for the good work he’s done lately, but one look on Zachariah’s face drains all that hope away.

“I’ve been monitoring your progress in this company,” Zachariah begins, “and I’ve noticed the past few months have seen a substantial drop in the quality and the quantity of your work.”

Castiel is shocked. If anything, he feels his work has improved—he’s a little more content, happy to slog it out at work because he knows he has at least some semblance of a social life now. “But sir, the Williams account…”

“The Williams account notwithstanding,” Zachariah interrupts, “your work has become sloppy. Your mentoring of Shurley leaves a lot to be desired and I have it on good authority that some of your clients are less than happy with your services.”

He’s lying; Castiel knows he’s lying. He’s had nothing but positive feedback from his clients, with one of them even sending him a box of chocolates for the work he’d done sorting out their accounts.

“Sir,” he begins.

“As of now, I’m putting you on six months probation.”

“What?” Castiel is dumbfounded.

“Six months probation. You step out of line at any point in those six months and your contract is terminated.”

“You can’t…”

Zachariah nods, smiling in a way that makes Castiel want to punch his face. “I can. Take a look at your contract, Mr. Novak. It’s all there. Now, good day to you. Get back to work.”

Castiel nods dumbly, before walking out. His legs are shaking, and he feels incredibly weak. He gets back to his desk, sitting in his chair and leaning forwards with his head between his legs, breathing hard and trying to stave off the panic that’s rising in his stomach. It takes him 15 minutes to calm down.

It’s only probation. It’s not being fired, it’s probation. If he can work hard, keep his head down and slog it out for 6 months, he’ll be ok. He’ll be ok.

Another 15 minutes go by, and he sees Zachariah leaving, whistling nonchalantly. Then he gets angry. How dare he? How dare he? He’s worked so hard, had such a good day up until this point and then one man, one fat asshole of a prick destroys everything,. He wants to punch something, hard, wants to hit until his knuckles are ripped and bleeding. He breathes hard again, trying to calm himself down. The blood is rushing in his ears, and he walks to the water cooler, gulping down ice cold water.

Fuck this, he thinks. Fuck everything. He needs….he needs to see Dean. Dean will know what to do. It doesn’t matter that it’s a Thursday, that Dean’s…it doesn’t matter. He needs to see him, for him to tell him it’s going to be ok.

The stupid locks on the damn car are stiff again, taking an age to open. Castiel all about gives up when there’s finally a click and he can open the door. Inside, he sits there, fingers drumming on the dashboard as he thinks for a moment, tries to get his thoughts in order so he can drive. He takes out his phone, calling Dean’s number but it goes straight to voicemail. He doesn’t leave a message; he wants to talk to Dean, not a machine.

He starts the car, driving the familiar route to where he first met Dean. His heart is beating loudly in his chest as he anticipates seeing Dean. He hopes he won’t be annoyed, hopes he’ll understand and get Castiel’s car so they can go to his apartment, the diner, just anywhere where they can talk. He turns the corner into the first street, and Dean’s nowhere to be seen. Driving slowly, he gets to the second, heart beating faster now, hands shaking slightly on the wheel. Please be there, he thinks, please.

Dean is nowhere. Third street now, and still nothing. Finally, he turns into the fourth, going as slow as possible until he reaches the middle, looking up and down carefully. Nothing. Nothing at all.

He’s about to drive off when something catches his eye, a movement in the shadows of an alleyway not far from where he is. He steps out of his car, wanting to get closer, needing to see who it is.

The sight hits Castiel like a bullet to the stomach, and he is left reeling in pain. It’s Dean. He’s on his knees, going to town on some guy’s cock. He’s doing it quickly, taking all of the length in, sliding in between those beautiful lips that not four days ago were wrapped around Castiel’s cock, lips that not one day ago were pressed against Castiel’s own.

It’s then that Castiel hears a moan, and the sound is oddly familiar. He looks up, and the sight makes him retch, shoving a hand in front of his mouth to stifle the sound.

Zachariah.

His…Dean is sucking his boss’s cock, the boss that has been making his life hell, the one that has his fate and whole livelihood dangling in the palm of his sweaty, lascivious hands. Zachariah’s leaning up against the wall of the alley, pants pulled down to his knees and he’s moaning as Dean takes him to the back of his throat, filthy, fat hands buried in Dean’s hair as he pushes and pulls his head back and forth.

Castiel can’t move, can’t do anything. He’s frozen to the spot with anger and hurt and disgust, wanting to tear his eyes away from the sight but finding he can’t, has to keep on looking. Zachariah moans loudly, and Dean pulls off, taking his cock in his hand and jacking him as Zachariah comes, spilling onto the floor below.

Well, at least he didn’t swallow, Castiel thinks bitterly.

He sees Zachariah pull his pants up, before delving into his wallet and handing Dean some notes, which Dean takes and stashes in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Very good,” Zachariah says. “I may use you again.” He pats Dean on the shoulder, before walking away.

Castiel ducks down, relieved when Zachariah walks in the opposite direction, watching him as he saunters away, the arrogant swagger making him want to just run after him and hit him. He disappears around the corner, and Castiel is about to get back into his car and just leave the whole sorry spectacle when Dean comes walking into him, stopping dead, eyes wide in horror.

“Cas?”

“…” Castiel opens his mouth, but there are no words. Nothing can justify what he feels right now.

“Cas…did you...?”

“Yes,” he manages. “Yes. I saw it. I saw all of it. Did he taste good?”

Dean baulks. “What?”

Castiel can feel the anger now. Forget the hurt; that will come later. Concentrate on the anger. “I said, did he taste good? I mean, you’ve had so many you must have a good baseline to compare it with.”

“I don’t…”

“DID MY BOSS TASTE GOOD?” He screams, not caring if anyone sees. 

Dean looks dumbfounded. “He was your boss?”

“As if you didn’t know. He’s Zachariah, the one who’s been making my life hell, the one I keep telling you about every Wednesday, the one I just want to kick to the floor. What I want to know is, did his cock taste as good as mine? Did you have a good laugh at my expense when you were sucking him off?”

Dean’s about to say something, then thinks better of it. “I didn’t know who he was. He was just some John like all the others.”

Castiel winces at this, and Dean stares at him, thinking. “This isn’t about his cock, is it?” He says carefully, “It’s not about me sucking off your boss, it’s about this,” he waves his hands around, “in general, isn’t it.”

“Don’t make it into something it’s not,” Castiel says. 

“I’m not though, am I? It’s not about your boss, it’s about what I am, what I do.”

“Don’t you dare make this about you. Don’t you dare make me out to be unreasonable, Dean.”

“It is though, isn’t it,” Dean says carefully, stepping closer. “Man, I thought you were different, I thought...”

“You thought I could handle seeing you suck another man’s dick in broad daylight, in a public place? Not just any man, but MY FUCKING BOSS?” Castiel’s finding it hard to breathe, and his hands are clenching and unclenching as he speaks.

“FUCK YOU! YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO SEE!” Dean practically screams. “Why the fuck are you here anyway? Trawling for business?”

“I was looking for YOU! I needed to speak to you!”

Dean stares at him, wide eyed, mouth slightly open as if taking in what Castiel said: “Look, Cas don’t do this…you know what I do. It’s how you fucking met me for fuck’s sake!”

It all pours out, now. The thing that Castiel was trying to hold back, trying to keep a lid on it. It all comes tumbling out, unbidden. “And this is how it’s going to be, isn’t it? Every night I have to think about you, whoring yourself out, doing whatever the fuck they want as long as the price is right? And then you think you can just…come back and fuck me and not think I care.”

“I don’t just fuck you, I love you.” Dean’s voice is breaking now, on the verge of tears but his pride seems to make him hold it together. “You just…you fucking…Look at me!” He gestures to his crotch. “I’m not…hard. I don’t enjoy it. This…this doesn’t turn me on. You do! Just you!”

There are tears collecting in the corners of Castiel’s eyes. Normally he would try and stop them from falling but at this point he doesn’t care. The image of Dean…it makes him want to be sick. He can’t look at him, just can’t without thinking of him sucking Zachariah, being on his knees, wondering how many times he’s done it…

“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” Dean spits. “You used me just like your fucking boss did, only problem was, you were such a dick you had to come back.”

“Yeah, because that’s all you were, just something to relieve my guilty conscience.” 

As soon as the words are out, he regrets them. Because he knows they’re not true, not what he believes at all. The trouble is…he doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know if he can take that leap and work out how he really feels. 

Dean stands there. There are tears running down his face and he’s shaking, chest rising and falling with the effort to breathe. “Fuck you, Castiel. Fuck you. I’m doing this to give my brother a better life, you’re just doing it because…you can’t go against your fucking parents, don’t have the guts to tell them and your job to shove it. You’re sucking corporate cock and you don’t even know it you stupid asshole.”

“Don’t you…”

“Fuck you, Cas! Fuck you. I thought…I thought…fuck it, I don’t even know. If you can’t accept me for who I am then…”

“We’re done.” Castiel finishes. They’re not the words he wants to say, but he knows what Dean means. If they can’t get over this, if he can’t get over this, then what chance to they have?

“Fine.” There are tears running down Dean’s face now, mirroring Castiel’s own. “Shoulda gone with my first instinct…once a prick, always a prick, right? S’what I get for falling in love. Knew you wouldn’t change, knew in the end you’d go back to being a dick,” he finishes, bitterly.

“Well, I’m glad I could prove you right,” Castiel chokes out, turning away and walking towards his car. “Cas!” Dean calls, but Castiel doesn’t look back. He gets into his car, not looking in his rear-view mirror, not wanting to see Dean. He starts the car and drives away, not turning around, not looking back.

He drives for miles, head full of gray fog, anger and hurt coursing through him. He finally stops at a gas station, where he parks up and turns the engine off. His phone buzzes; it’s Dean, but he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t want to hear his voice, hear how badly he fucked up. Instead he throws it into the back, and bursts out crying.

 

Castiel doesn’t know how he got home, just that he did and it was apparently without incident. The night goes in a blur of driving, tears, alcohol and fitful sleep. He wakes the next morning with a headache and an empty stomach, having spent much of his time panicking and throwing up. He calls in to work sick, telling them it’s some sort of stomach flu before he drags himself back to bed and closes his eyes. 

All he sees is Dean’s face, red with anger, shouting at him. He wants to just reach out and hold him, tell him he’s sorry, that he didn’t mean what he said. Then the image morphs into Zachariah’s smug face, contorted in pleasure as Dean sucks him off. Castiel…can’t. He just can’t. 

He doesn’t eat, instead just spends the day in a blur, heaving his tired body from his bed to the bathroom, then back to bed again. In the evening he drinks again, knowing that passing out in a drunken stupor is the only way he can avoid thinking. 

By midday Saturday he realizes he has to eat, so he picks out a nearly stale loaf of bread from the cupboard and toasts it. He can’t go on like this, he can’t. It’s not as if he and Dean were in a proper relationship; they’d barely gotten it off the ground. It’s just…he misses knowing that there’s someone there who will listen to him, wants to hear what he has to say, wants to spend time with him, makes him laugh, makes life seem a little bit brighter. And that’s when it hits him, like a hammer right in the face. 

He loves him. 

He loves him, and he never told him, couldn’t tell him. He loves him but he can’t get over his stupid fucking prejudices and because of that, he’s thrown it all away. 

In a fit of panic he scrabbles to find his phone, dialing Dean’s number. It goes straight to voicemail, almost like it’s been turned off. Images of Dean with clients flashes through Castiel’s mind, and he throws his phone across the room in a rage, the handset hitting the wall, cracking the screen. There’s no hope, he realizes, no hope at all. 

He manages to haul himself out of bed to buy some groceries, so at least he has some sort of food in the house. He must look a mess; with blood shot eyes, unkempt hair, two day’s worth of stubble on his face (and his beard grows faster than anything he’s ever known anyway), and not having had a shower. The lady at the counter eyes him suspiciously like he’s some kind of drug-addled hobo, inspecting the notes he hands over in case they’re fakes. Fuck her, she can think what she likes, he thinks. He couldn’t care less. 

He makes himself some kind of salad for dinner, and it’s the most substantial meal he’s eaten in days. His mouth is dry and he has no appetite, but he knows if he doesn’t eat anything, he’ll make things worse. He spends the evening torturing himself with thoughts of what he and Dean would be doing, how Dean would work off the stress and congratulate him for a job well done. He can’t help the bitterness that rises in his throat at this thought. 

He falls to sleep an hour later, drunk on Jack Daniels and feeling sick. 

Sunday rolls around, and he finds he can’t get out of bed, just doesn’t want to. He tries calling Dean’s phone again, just for the sake of it, but it’s still turned off. He pulls up what he thinks is Dean’s number in the contact list, thumb hovering over the ‘delete’ button, but he can’t do it. Somewhere in the back of his traitorous mind he still thinks he can fix this, can’t just delete it forever. 

He hauls himself up to get something to eat, making himself a coffee. He’s been living on bread and salad for the past three days now, unable to face anything else but knowing it’s not enough to sustain him. Tomorrow, he thinks, tomorrow he’ll pull himself together. 

The evening rolls around, and Castiel has moved from the bed to the couch, watching aimless hours of mindless TV, just trying to take his mind off things. Somewhere across the room his cell is ringing. He leaps up, scouring the place and eventually finding it by the door where he last threw it. He tries desperately to make out who’s calling, but with the screen cracked like it is, it’s difficult. 

He answers, breathing hard. “Hello?” 

“Hey bro? Where the hell are you? I landed an hour ago.” 

Gabriel. Oh shit, he completely forgot that Gabriel was coming to visit. It’s too late—he can’t tell him it’s not the right time, he’ll just have to sort himself out. 

“Gabriel, I’m sorry, I totally forgot.” 

There’s a snort on the other end of the phone. “Figured. Well, I’ll get a taxi and you can pay. Be there in about a half hour.” 

“Ok.” The phone clicks off, and Castiel turns to see his shit tip of an apartment. Crap, he thinks, before thinking about what to do first. He tidies up quickly, washing up the dirty crockery and vacuuming the floor before leaping into the shower, the first one he’s had in three days. He just about gets dressed before the buzzer sounds, and soon enough Gabriel is knocking at his door. He opens it to see Gabriel staring at him, grin on his face which falls as soon as he catches sight of Castiel. 

“Whoah Castiel,” he exclaims. “What happened? You look like shit.” 

“Life,” Castiel says bitterly, helping him with his cases. He’s so weak from lack of food he can barely carry them. 

“So I take it the mysterious boyfriend is now an ex-mysterious boyfriend, huh?” 

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” It’s funny, now that he has someone to talk to, Castiel finds he doesn’t really want to talk at all. 

“Well, I can see this visit’s going to be a blast,” Gabriel says, settling down on the couch. “You gotta pull yourself together, bro. There’ll be others.” 

Not like him, Castiel thinks and then coughs, stifling the sob that wants to come out. He needs to stop it; pull himself together, move on. Moping never solved anything and maybe Gabriel being here is the push he needs. 

“Anyway…so whaddya got planned for me this week bro? Anything exciting?” 

“I…no. Not really.” If he’s honest, he’s not thinking past each day. 

“WHAT? You mean I gotta make my own fun? Maaaan…” Gabriel’s grin is positively evil, and Castiel can’t help but smile back, recognizing the mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“You always do anyway. You always say I’m far too boring and I need livening up.” 

“Cos you totally do, and if your big brother Gabe can’t do it, no one else can, that’s for sure.” He walks over to Castiel, giving him a shoulder bump which in Gabriel’s language is the equivalent of a hug. “Come on…I’m beat so I need some sleep but tomorrow, tomorrow we start the rest of your life, right? None of this mopey shit.” 

But Castiel has work tomorrow. He thinks about it, thinks about having to see Zachariah’s face again and he just can’t face it. He can’t cope with it at the moment. Another day off would help; he can just phone in sick again. The busiest week is done; they can manage without him for another day. 

He sleeps better that night. Something to do with having someone else in the house, someone to give him comfort if he needs it. When he wakes, it’s to whistling in the kitchen, and he finds Gabriel already up and cooking bacon, eggs, mushrooms and hash browns. 

“Where did you…” 

“Went shopping. You had practically nothing in and hey, you might be able to live on lettuce leaves but I don’t. ‘Sides, you need fattening up—you’re far too scrawny.” 

Castiel sits down. He has to admit, it smells delicious and for the first time in three days, he actually feels hungry, feels like he wants to eat something. 

It tastes wonderful, and Castiel eats all of it, his stomach practically breathing a sigh of relief that finally, it has something substantial to go on. Once they’ve cleaned up, Castiel has a long shower, pulling on some clean clothes and actually making an effort with his appearance. When he steps out of the bathroom, Gabriel claps his hands. “See, that’s much better? Don’t you feel better?” 

“A little,” Castiel admits, and he does, he really does. 

 

They spend the day catching up, with Castiel taking Gabriel to the local museum and art gallery. Gabriel’s always had a fascination for old things, and the new Ancient Egyptian exhibition has him fascinated. He takes copious notes, with every exhibit sparking new ideas for tricks in his magic show, and Castiel just watches him in fascination. Gabriel seems to take so much joy out of even the smallest thing, and it’s with a pang of regret that Castiel wishes he could be more like him, not having a care in the world, appreciating the little things in life. 

They go for dinner at one of Castiel’s favorite Chinese restaurants, knowing that if this doesn’t get him eating properly, nothing will. They talk about what Gabriel has been up to, how he’s doing well with his travelling show and may even have some TV interest, before the conversation turns to Castiel’s current state. 

He tells him everything, doesn’t hold back. Gabriel’s always been the one he can talk to out of all his siblings, and this is no different. He listens patiently, hearing how Castiel met Dean, how they became friends and then something more for a brief period, before Castiel messed it all up. He doesn’t judge when Castiel tells him what Dean did for a living, and the reasons behind it. 

“So,” he says, “Guess his job was a little too big to handle, right?” 

“Something like that, yes,” Castiel says with resignation. 

“Man, I used to date a hooker. It was awesome for a time but then, I never really loved him so it was different. Didn’t mind him sleeping with other guys. It’s different when you fall in love, right?” 

“Yeah,” Castiel says, taking a deep breath. 

“And the thing is, they won’t give it up just cos you don’t like it. They get used to the lifestyle and don’t wanna lose the money.” 

“But Dean was…is only doing it because he wants his brother to go to law school.” 

“True, so there’s a finite period there. Three, four years? That’s a lot to cope with, man. Does he love you?” 

“He said he did. Doesn’t now though—I’ve completely fucked the whole thing up.” 

“Nah…” Gabriel says, “If he meant what he said, he still does. You don’t just stop loving someone for because they’re being an asshole. Hell knows people have stayed with me long enough.” He smiles, and Castiel can’t help but smile too. 

“Anyway...I’d probably reflect on the whole experience, and use it as a kind of ‘new beginning.’ This could be the start of the rest of your life, Cassy-o.” 

“How do you mean?” 

Gabriel taps the tips of his fingers together in thought. “When was your last relationship, the one before this one?” 

Castiel thinks. “I don’t know…about a year, year and a half ago?” 

“Exactly. You gotta get back on that train! See what’s around.” 

Castiel isn’t sure, and his face must betray his thoughts because Gabriel waves his hands and says, “Don’t give me that look—plenty more candy on the shelf yada yada. Tell you what, tomorrow night, you and me are going to go hit the clubs and see what’s around.” 

“I’m not sure…” 

“Bullshit. It’s not an option, you’re coming. As my host, it is your duty to show me a good time. Tomorrow night. I’m serious.” 

Castiel sighs. On the one hand, it’ll be a good distraction, on the other it could prove to be a very, very, bad idea. He’s not entirely sure, but he nods anyway, figuring that it’s his duty to show Gabriel at least some semblance of a good time while he’s visiting. 

 

He calls in sick again the next day, Gabriel insisting that he can’t go back to work, that they need to hit the shops and find him something decent to wear. “You’re not going to pick up any hot guys wearing that god damn trench coat,” Gabriel had said and yes, he had to admit he had kind of buried himself in it. It’s like a comfort blanket; warm, big enough to wrap around him and keep the world out. 

Shopping with Gabriel takes all day. His brother literally cannot just buy the first thing that looks good; instead, he has to go to every single shop, before going back to a few select ones that had something which sparked his interest. Castiel manages to make a few purchases: A nice khaki jacket with pockets everywhere, some dark blue jeans that show off his ass, a couple of tight fitting t-shirts and a new pair of boots. He’s pleased, enjoying just having the freedom to shop and actually buy things that indicate he has a social life for once. 

He spends an hour getting ready that evening, staring into the mirror and messing with his hair over and over again, checking his teeth, making sure the clothes fit him just so. When he steps out of his bedroom Gabriel whistles. “Whoah,” he says, “You’ll be beating them off with a stick.” 

“I was hoping to use my hands,” Castiel smirks. It’s the first time he’s cracked a joke in ages. 

“Touche, mon brave homme. Let’s go. Don’t want to keep the guys waiting.” 

“What guys?” 

“The ones that are gonna be all over you.” Gabriel laughs, pulling Castiel out the door. 

 

The club, Colors, is heaving. There’s barely room at the bar, and the music is thumping a relentless rhythm in Castiel’s head. It’s not his kind of place at all, but Gabriel seems to revel it in, flirting will all and sundry in an effort to get out of buying any drinks. It works and soon enough, Castiel finds himself squashed into a booth with a strange blue cocktail in his hand, sitting next to Gabriel who chats animatedly to someone across the table while the guy’s friend sits and stares. Castiel finishes his drink, and soon enough, another is placed in front of him. By the forth one he’s mildly drunk; just on the nice side of tipsy. It’s the type of drunk where you know exactly what you’re doing, can still hold a decent conversation with someone, but can also act a little out of character and not care about the consequences. 

He finishes his drink, and stands up. “I’m going to the bar,” he says, “Does anyone want a drink?” Gabriel nods, and his companion agrees. The other guy in the booth, the one who hasn’t said much, just shakes his head. “Ok…back in a minute,” Castiel says, before walking to the bar. The music’s not so bad now, he thinks, it’s tolerable. He stands at the bar, waiting to get the bartender’s attention when he feels a hand on his back. 

“So, where have you been hiding,” a voice says, directly into his ear. He can feel the brush of lips against his skin, and he shivers. 

“Do you pick up many men with that line,” he says absently, turning towards the speaker. The guy’s pretty tall, ok looking with a decent body. He has lightish hair, and his eyes are deep brown, completely the wrong color, Castiel thinks absently. Still, he’s ok looking. Not ugly by any means, but certainly not drop dead gorgeous. 

“Only the ones I really want,” the man says, putting a hand around Castiel’s waist. “So what’s your name?” 

“C…Nick. My name is Nick.” Castiel says 

“Hello, Nick. My name’s Matt. I think you’re incredibly sexy.” Castiel feels a hand on his ass, giving it a good hard squeeze. Lips are on his neck now, kissing up to his jawline. “Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private, huh?” 

Castiel’s about to say something, when he looks over and sees Gabriel leaning out of the booth. Their eyes meet and Gabriel nods, giving him the two thumbs up. Castiel turns, pulling Matt into a quick kiss, just a press of lips and nothing more. “I think that would be a good idea.” 

Matt leads him into a back room, pushing him up against a wall and kissing him harshly. There’s too much teeth, his lips seem too thin, and there’s no finesse to the kiss at all. Castiel feels a hand on his crotch, caressing him and his body can’t help respond to the stimulation. “Wanna suck on you,” Matt says, kissing down his neck. “Bet you have a beautiful cock.” 

Castiel bets Matt has said this thousands of times, to thousands of guys, but he’s at the stage where he doesn’t particularly care anymore. He feels his jeans being unzipped and pulled down along with his boxers, and then there’s a mouth on his cock. No preamble, no foreplay…not like Dean. 

The thought makes him stop. He can’t think about Dean. Dean’s….gone. To compare anyone to him would be futile. Matt sucks him down, bringing him to full hardness, and goes to town on his cock, moving his head back and forth. It’s nice, but it’s not…not good enough. Castiel buries a hand in his too short hair, struggling to get a proper grip so he can move his head back and forth. 10 minutes of futile sucking goes by and Castiel whines in frustration. “That’s it, baby. Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it,” Matt moans, oblivious to his lack of skill and poor attempt at dirty talk. Castiel tries to get into it, really tries. He finds his eyes slip shut and he imagines a familiar head with dirty blonde hair moving up and down his cock, full lips wrapped around him, tongue teasing him in all the right spots. He imagines Matt’s voice only pitched lower, huskier, with a slightly southern drawl. It works, it really works until he opens his eyes and sees an unfamiliar head, unfamiliar lips wrapped around him, unfamiliar sounds coming out of an unknown mouth. 

He’s had enough. This isn’t going to work. He pulls Matt off, pulling up his boxers and jeans and adjusting himself. 

“Had too much to drink,” he says by way of explanation. “Not going to come tonight. Sorry. You were…good.” He walks off, not looking back. 

He finds Gabriel with his lips all over booth guy, and taps him on the shoulder. “I’m going,” he says. Have a good night.” 

“How was he?” Gabriel asks. 

Not Dean. “Average,” Castiel manages with a shrug. “Enjoy yourself, but don’t make too much noise when you get in.” 

He walks out the club feeling utterly dejected. So this is how it’s going to be; everyone he meets will just be compared to Dean. No one will measure up, no one. He may as well give up now before he wastes any more energy on trying. 

When he gets back to his apartment he checks his phone, finding he has a missed call and a voicemail message. His heart leaps into his throat, thinking it may be Dean. It’s not, it’s Zachariah. 

“Castiel Novak, this is your boss in case you’d forgotten. I’m calling to warn you—if you don’t turn up for work tomorrow, don’t bother turning up ever again. You will be fired, simple as that. This is your last warning. I expect to see you in the morning.” 

Castiel takes off his clothes and practically throws himself into bed. Another crappy end to a crappy night, and now he has to be up early to go to a job he hates, working for a man he despises. 

 

He wakes up in the morning, early, to find Gabriel asleep in the living room, body half on the couch. He only has half his clothes on. Castiel turns on the lights, and Gabriel groans. “What the hell, Castiel? What time is it?” 

“It’s 6.30am.” 

“WHAT? Why are you up so early?” 

“Because I have a job to go to. Because my boss called last night and said if I didn’t turn up today, I would be fired.” 

“They can’t do that. You’re legitimately sick,” Gabriel whines, holding his head and squinting against the light. 

“I don’t know, but I’m not going to take the risk. Besides, I’m not really sick if I can go out clubbing,” Castiel says, handing Gabriel a coffee. 

Gabriel takes a few sips, and gathers his thoughts. “The problem with you,” he begins, “is that you’ve never stood up for yourself. You’ve never actually followed what you wanted. You see, I could tell you never wanted to be an accountant; you just did whatever mom and dad said because it gave you an easier life. I get so frustrated with you sometimes that you never tell them to shove it where the sun don’t shine, you just do whatever. You gotta live, Castiel. You gotta do what the hell you want and screw everyone else. Look at me…” 

“Currently half naked on my couch.” 

“Yeah, after a night of hot sex. Well, kind of mediocre sex. Did the guy have a beard? I got this rash on my thighs that I usually get with beards…Anyway, no, look at what I do.” 

“A travelling magician.” 

“Illusionist. Don’t be a dick,” Gabriel smirks. 

“Sorry.” 

“But anyway, I’m doing what I want. Does it pay well? Nah, not really. Could I give a crap? Nah. Do I care that it’s not what they want? Couldn’t give a fuck. Not interested. I’m happy, and that’s all that matters.” 

“So…” 

“So, do what you want to do.” 

“It’s not that easy.” 

“Yes it is. Think about it. You must have savings, right? Enough to see you through until you get another job, enough to set up your own firm or something? Tell them where they can shove their job.” 

Castiel laughs, bitterly. “Oh to be you, Gabriel, and not have to worry about such things,” he says, finishing his coffee and grabbing his suitcase. He’s really not in the mood today. 

“Hey, just think about it, ok?” 

“Yes fine, whatever. Look, there’s food in the fridge and Tylenol in the cupboard so help yourself. Just don’t throw up on the carpet.” 

“Funny, Castiel. Real funny.” 

“I’ll see you later,” Castiel says, before leaving the apartment. 

The drive to his office causes him to become more and more nervous. By the time he gets to his desk he’s shaking. If he can get through the day without seeing Zachariah, that would be good. He can do this, he knows he can. 

He begins to work, immersing himself in accounts, and telephoning new clients to introduce himself and organize introductory meetings with them. He makes steady progress throughout the day, not pushing himself too hard but doing enough. He even has time to have a break, talk with Chuck and Missouri before getting back to work. Eventually, 5 o’clock rolls around and he’s on the home stretch. That is, until he sees Zachariah, walking straight towards him. 

“Ahh Mr. Novak, decided to join us at last have you?” 

“I’m feeling better, sir,” Castiel says, through gritted teeth. 

“Good. You made the right decision. We don’t tolerate persistent sickness here. If you can’t cope with the workload you shouldn’t be in the job, isn’t that right?” 

“Of course,” Castiel says, but he can feel his hands shaking, feel the anger rise as he stares at his stupid, pompous, fat face. He’s had enough of this; enough of being treated like dirt, like something to be trodden on, stamped down into submission. 

“Stress. It’s such an ugly word, don’t you think. A man who is stressed obviously can’t manage himself. It’s all in the mind. The weak and feeble suffer stress…” 

“Whereas the strong get their cock sucked by a hooker, is that right?” Castiel jumps, astounded that the words have left his mouth. Zachariah’s eyes widen, and he stares at him in disbelief. 

“What did you say?” He says, quietly, menacingly. 

“I said,” Castiel begins, louder now, “The strong get their cock sucked in a dirty alleyway, on company time. That’s how they unwind, isn’t that right, Zachariah?” 

“You…” 

“Or I guess they relax by bullying staff members, pushing them further and further until they break under the pressure. That’s what really gets you off, isn’t it? This is one big power trip to you, stamping on the little guy so you can feel important, feel like the big man instead of the pathetic, fat-headed maggot you actually are.” 

“HOW DARE YOU!” Zachariah shouts, and Castiel imagines window panes rattling at the force of the outburst. Everyone’s staring at them now, but Castiel finds he doesn’t care. Gabriel’s right; he needs to find his own way, and his own way does not involved sucking up to bullying, pompous, hypocritical asses. “This is…” 

“The last straw, yes. And you know what, fuck you, Zachariah, fuck you right in your overweight ass. I quit.” Castiel can’t breathe, he’s shaking so hard with adrenaline. 

“You can’t…” 

“I can, and I am. I quit this stupid company. Take your job, and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.” 

Castiel stands up, shoving a few of his possessions in his case, grabbing his coat, and walking out. There’s a line of people watching him as he walks, staring at him in disbelief. 

“You’re finished, Novak,” Zachariah shouts after him, “Wait till your parents hear of this.” Castiel stops and turns, smiling now. “By all means, tell them. Send them my regards, won’t you.” He finishes, before walking away. 

If this were a movie, he thinks, someone would start clapping, slowly. It would build and build, with the whole office whooping and cheering after him. The only thing that happens at Adler, Stein and Partners is complete silence, before a lone voice shouts, “Go Castiel!” 

“Shut up, Shurley,” Zachariah barks. 

 

Castiel gets to his car, the locks opening first time for once, and sits inside trying to catch his breath. He’s done it, done what he wanted to do after such a long time. He starts laughing; starts, and then can’t stop. It’s a hearty, belly laugh, the kind he hasn’t had in years. He laughs so hard his stomach hurts with the effort. When he comes to his senses, he starts thinking about what happens now, about what he’s going to do. He stares at his phone, cracked screen glinting in the low sunlight. Dean, he thinks. He wants to see Dean. He’s setting things right today, and he knows that includes Dean, too. Even if Dean won’t listen, he has to try. He just wants to see him, one last time. 

 

It’s Wednesday, but without their meeting, Dean’s probably working, Castiel figures. He drives to the familiar part of town, looking up and down each street but Dean is nowhere to be found. He doubles back and starts again, but still he can’t find him. Eventually he plucks up the courage and asks one of the other hookers, who tells him he hasn’t seen Dean in a while, and besides, Wednesday is his day off. 

He must be sticking to that, Castiel thinks, which means there’s a possibility he’s at the diner. He drives, breaking the speed limit in his haste to get there. It’s not definite that Dean will be there, but something tells Castiel that he is, that he has to be. He parks up, stepping out of his car and stepping inside, eyes darting from table to table to see if Dean’s there. 

He spots him almost instantly, and his throat immediately constricts, heart beating furiously. Dean looks…ok. And he’s not alone. There’s someone else, someone taller with floppy brown hair sitting opposite him. They’re talking, not eating, having just finished or just ordered. Castiel’s heart sinks, and he’s about to turn around when Dean’s eyes catch his. Dean freezes, and the guy he’s with turns around to look. Castiel recognizes him from the photos in Dean’s apartment—it’s Sam. 

Castiel walks closer, breath catching in his throat. “Dean,” he manages weakly, not knowing if his legs will hold up under the strain of standing. 

Dean’s breathing hard. “What, the hell, do you want?” he manages, and Castiel can see it’s an effort for him to speak. 

“Dean please, I need to talk.” 

“Fuck you, Cas, I got nothing to say to you. We said it all six days ago.” 

The words sting, cut him to the core but he knows he needs this, needs to tell Dean what’s happened, how he feels. Even if he’s rejected by the end of it, he needs to tell him. “Please, Dean. Please just let me talk.” 

“I don’t…” Dean beings, but Castiel cuts him off. 

“I’ve quit my job.” It comes out faster and louder than Castiel had expected, his brain obviously desperate to make Dean see that something’s changed.” 

“What?” Dean says in disbelief. 

“I quit today. I just…they’re assholes, Dean, and I can’t work like that. I don’t want to…be the corporate guy anymore. I want to do something for me, for once.” 

Dean turns to Sam, who’s still staring at Castiel. “I’m gonna go outside for a while. You’ll be ok here, right?” 

“Knock yourself out,” Sam nods, face screwed up in confusion. “Take as long as you need. Just let me know if you need me.” 

Dean stands, motioning Castiel to follow up. They step outside, walking around to the back of the diner for some privacy. “What the hell’s going on, Cas?” 

“I told you. I grew some balls, quit my job, told Zachariah where to shove it.” 

“But why? You were so dead set on following what your parents wanted.” 

Castiel nods. “Yes, but then I realized that there’s something else. There’s what I want, me. I never even considered that before.” 

He looks at Dean, who’s staring at him with large, green eyes. “There’s also…you, Dean,” he says quietly. “There’s you.” 

Dean tilts his head in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Castiel stays silent for a moment, thinking. “The past six days…I’ve been a wreck, and it’s all down to you…” 

“Hey, you were the one who…” 

“No, please, let me finish. I’ve been a wreck because all I can think about is you, what I said, what I did, how I acted. How that made you feel…I’ve been a selfish prick; an unfeeling, irrational idiot and for that I am truly sorry.” 

Dean takes a deep breath. “Ok,” he sighs, not knowing what else to say. 

Castiel stares into his eyes, locked in his gaze. “You can tell me where to go after this, and I’ll abide by your wishes, but I just need to tell you.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t care what you do, Dean. I don’t care if you’re fixing cars or standing on a street corner selling yourself to the highest bidder. I love you, Dean. I love you, and if by doing what you’re doing you can give your brother a better life, and you still want me, I’ll deal with it. I won’t ever ask you to stop.” He looks down, kicking his feet in the dirt. “I love you…that’s all I came to say. I just…needed you to know.” 

He can feel a single tear roll down his face, and he wipes it away. There’s a noise, and when he looks up, he sees Dean walking towards him. Strong arms encircle him, and he melts into Dean’s embrace. 

“You stupid asshole,” Dean whispers into his ear. “You stupid, fucking…I missed you, Cas, so fucking much. I thought I’d never eat, never sleep again. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. I haven’t…haven’t been out for days. This is the first time I’ve been able to…” He moves to rest his forehead against Castiel’s, closing his eyes. “I love you too, Cas. I love you so fucking much, it hurts, but if you try and…if you do anything like this again, I swear it’s over. I can’t take that again, can’t take feeling like that. You hear me?” 

Castiel can do nothing but nod. 

They open their eyes, staring at each other for a few moments before both moving forward simultaneously, lips pressing together in a kiss Castiel never dared hope would happen. He feels like Dean’s breathing life into him again, like suddenly he can live. Dean kisses him like he’s drowning, needy and a little desperate. They pull apart, still locked in a tight embrace. “You’re gonna make it up to me, right?” Dean says eventually, and when he pulls away, Castiel can see the familiar smirk on his face. Castiel can’t help but smile too. 

“Yes, I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Multiple times?” Dean waggles his eyebrow. 

Castiel’s grin gets wider. “Yes, ok.” He kisses him again. 

“We’d better get back to Sammy. You eaten?” 

“No, not since lunch. I was kind of busy telling Zachariah to bite me.” 

Dean laughs. “I’d have loved to have seen the look on his face. We’d better get inside then. You look like you’re wasting away.” 

The walk back into the diner, sitting down opposite Sam. Castiel feels Dean’s hand slip into his under the table. 

“Wow, you look cheery,” Sam says. 

“Bite me,” Dean replies. “Cas, this is my little brother Sammy. Sammy, this is Cas.” 

“I gathered. I’ve heard a lot about you, Cas.” Sam says. 

“Honestly,” Castiel replies, “I’m not that much of a prick. Not anymore.” Dean bursts out laughing, and Sam smiles. “I never said a word,” Dean manages, and Sam laughs again. 

“Anyway,” Dean starts, and Castiel notices a strange glint in his eye. “The reason why we’re here this evening is because Sam here, has gotten a place at Stanford Law School.” Dean’s practically beaming with pride. 

“Sam, that’s fantastic! Congratulations,” Castiel says, shaking Sam’s hand. Sam blushes, “Yeah, well, Dean forced me to study so…yeah, kind of had to pay him back.” 

“And not only that,” Dean continues, squeezing Castiel’s hand, “My baby bro here as managed to bag himself a full ride scholarship too.” 

“Really? But that’s…that’s amazing!” 

“Dean, shut up, you’re embarrassing me!” Sam says. 

“So that means… does that mean…” Castiel doesn’t want to say it. 

“No more night shifts,” Dean finishes, his face beaming. 

Castiel can’t believe it. Not only does he have Dean back, but Dean’s…Dean’s… 

“Bobby says I can start back at the salvage yard any time. Says the kid they got to replace me don’t know shit. Means I can work normal hours again.” 

“Means you won’t be coming home from that god damn factory at all hours,” Sam finishes. Dean shoots Castiel a look and Castiel nods, understanding. He can’t stop smiling. 

Their food arrives and they eat, talking amiably, Dean saying how he’s seen a 67 Chevrolet Impala rusting in Bobby’s yard, just crying out to be restored, while Sam talks about what he’s going to do once he starts at Stanford. He gets up to go to the bathroom, and Dean seizes the opportunity to pull Castiel into a deep kiss. “So,” he says, nuzzling his nose, “what are you going to do?” 

“Honestly? I don’t really know. I hadn’t thought past finding you, telling you how I feel, and taking you back to my apartment for a few hours while Gabriel’s out trawling the bars.” 

“Oh really? And what makes you think I’ll come?” 

“I don’t know. I’m just taking a leap of faith here.” 

Dean kisses him again, slowly, not wanting to pull away until they hear the door of the bathroom open. Castiel stares at Dean, and they both have huge, stupid grins on their faces. 

He knows he and Dean still have things to work out, still have hurdles to overcome but they’re on the right track and given time, he knows they’ll get over them. As he sits there, smiling at Sam, laughing at Dean and catching his mouth in quick kisses when Sam’s not looking, he can’t quite believe it. 

He’s finally done it, finally taken that leap into the unknown. He hopes that eventually he’ll hit the ground upright, but knows that even if he doesn’t, Dean will be there to catch his fall. It’s a suitably wonderful end, to a suitably amazing day. 

End


End file.
